


The White Rose Company

by miltonicsimile



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Angel & Rose Imagery, Breaking and Entering, Car Chases, Gen, Heist, Inspired by Art, Kidnapping, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Multi, POV Multiple, Power of Friendship, Slow Burn, Swearing, eventual sexy times?, jeonghan centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2018-10-07 01:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 46,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10348941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miltonicsimile/pseuds/miltonicsimile
Summary: When Seungkwan is kidnapped by the White Rose Company, one of the most notorious crime syndicates in Seoul, he doesn't know what to expect. Being reunited with his brother's ex-boyfriend, helping criminals steal from his own family, and falling in love with a gang member is definitely not it though.





	1. Prologue - Wonwoo - For the Picking

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first long chaptered fic I've ever done, so bear with me, it'll have to be heavily edited once completed (pls be forgiving with all the errors and any repetitiveness).  
> Also, this will have dif POV's throughout i think so watch for chapter titles.  
> Thanks for reading! xx :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i added the prologue later don't @ me

 

 

 

Wonwoo rolled down the heavily tinted window of the rental car and stuck his camera lens out.

He was glad Jeonghan had called him up and offered him this job. It was easy money - watching some rich kid, gathering intel on his daily routine, and recording any movement. It was especially easy when it seemed that the boy had been put on house arrest by his parents. A waste of Wonwoo’s talents really; a skilled PI with several years and scandals under his belt.

Being a private investigator was a waste of his talents too. At least according to some people like the higher-ups at the police academy he had attended for a few months before dropping out. Wonwoo couldn’t do the stiff rules and the goddamn hierarchy, the blatant abuse of power. He had come to realize he was too smart to spend the rest of his life a tool of bureaucracy.

He had everything he needed to get by. And after those few months at the academy, Wonwoo had inside knowledge that he found terribly practical in his new line of work. Most of it flirted with the law, dancing the lines, and often crossing them to get the job done. Working with the White Rose Company had been just another step away from the moral high ground. And he was okay with it.

Jeonghan, who headed the WRC, was a man who Wonwoo greatly admired. Devilishly smart and driven, he was a businessman of the highest tier.

But if Wonwoo was being honest, he would have been rather annoyed with Jeonghan for giving him such a boring job, despite the money, if it hadn’t been for one thing: Kim Mingyu.

Wonwoo watched as Mingyu’s red Benz pulled to the side of the dark country road, and all six-foot-one of the boy climbed out. He was twenty years old, the second son to self-made millionaire and best friend to Boo Seungkwan, the boy Wonwoo was being paid to watch.

Wonwoo was intrigued. Which was a rare thing for someone like him. When you got paid to find out other people’s secrets, everyone turns out to be rather boring. But there was something about Kim Mingyu that Wonwoo liked.

Perhaps it was the juxtaposition between his looks and everything else about him. Mingyu looked like he belonged on the set of a photoshoot as he leaned against the hood of his car (much to Wonwoo’s horror). He was tall, golden-skinned, with high cheekbones and a jawline Wonwoo could sharpen a knife on. Mingyu was the closest thing to the embodiment of a young god that he had ever seen. He had taken it upon himself to observe Mingyu too, his habits influenced Seungkwan’s, so it was justified. And in doing so, Wonwoo had come to discover that his own personal modern Adonis was rather a dork.

He had set up on the rooftop of a building across from Mingyu’s Seoul apartment to take photos and track his movements. Wonwoo quickly discovered that in the privacy (a subjective thing in Wonwoo’s world) of his own home that tall, handsome, Mingyu liked to dance badly in pyjamas covered in Pokémon and sit on his living room floor building little miniature furniture until one in the morning. When he snuck Seungkwan out, like he was doing now, he was a ball of energy cracking jokes at his own expense, doing anything for a smile. Much to Wonwoo’s amusement, he came to the conclusion that Mingyu was terribly puppy-like. A big dog that thought he was a small one.

He took another picture of Mingyu, the last one before all of this was over. Then set his camera on the seat next to him and put up his window. Seungkwan would be on his way out by now. It was time to act.

Wonwoo climbed out of the car, glancing at his reflection in the window briefly. He pushed back his dark hair, his bangs falling right back to the side of his forehead anyway. Wonwoo wondered if he would scare Mingyu. He seemed like the type to squeal when he saw a skinny guy with black and red ink covering his neck approaching him at night. Maybe he would squeal something about vampires, like some of the old women when he walked by.

“Hey,” Wonwoo called, his low voice ringing out in the darkness. It was a such a dark, quiet night, perfect for all sorts of trouble. He loved these kinds of nights.

Mingyu jumped, as predicted, head turning in the direction of Wonwoo’s voice. His brown eyes widened when he finally saw Wonwoo. “Uh, hey,” Mingyu replied uncertainly, and Wonwoo wanted to flash the poor boy a smile at the fear-laced words.

“An odd place to park,” Wonwoo commented, stopping a few feet away from where the other boy still leaned, perched against his too fancy car. He almost felt bad for what he was about to do.

Mingyu licked his lips. “Yeah, I guess. I’m just waiting for my friend.”

This was the closest Wonwoo had ever actually physically been to Mingyu, and somehow he was not surprised to find he was even prettier up close. He wanted to reach out and brush his finger across those lips and revel in the all that was Mingyu.

Instead, he asked, “Is he on his way?”

“Uh, yeah. He should just be a few minutes.” Mingyu replied, looking in the direction of Seungkwan’s family mansion surrounded by the tall foreboding gate and fence. As if he could be waiting for anything else. It was the only estate for miles around.

Pretty, but perhaps not quite the savviest when it came to keeping information privy. In Wonwoo’s line of work he had found that many people weren’t when under pressure, or, as in Mingyu’s case, afraid.

Wonwoo casually began to approach again, his speed increasing with each step. “You shouldn’t be so honest,” he offered. “It’s really not safe.”

With the final step, Wonwoo balled his right hand into a fist and swung, ensuring his middle knuckles impact directly on Mingyu’s chin, clipping across, fast and hard. Mingyu’s shocked face spun around with the hit, and he collapsed back onto the hood of his car. Effective, and hopefully wouldn’t bruise too badly. He figured Mingyu would still look pretty even with bruises, which didn’t justify the act, but it made him feel a bit better about it.

Wonwoo grabbed Mingyu beneath either arm and began to move him back into his car. He struggled and let out a groan, Mingyu being larger than he was and a dead weight when unconscious. Time was running out. Seungkwan would be here soon.

He finally managed to shove Mingyu into the car and shut the door. Under different circumstances, Wonwoo might’ve liked to shove Mingyu into his car and followed him in.  Preferably with the larger boy’s lips on Wonwoo’s neck and a hand in his pants. He doubted Mingyu would be down for that after this, but that was life. Wonwoo had a job to do.

He could see Seungkwan’s figure approaching on the dimly lit road, and Wonwoo waved, hoping to be mistaken as Mingyu. One tall figure looked so much like another in the dark of the night.

Seungkwan waved back, and Wonwoo reached into his back pocket and took out the chemically laden cloth.

He turned his back to Seungkwan, faced Mingyu’s car instead. Knock Seungkwan out, set him next to the car, and then go back for his own rental and bring the boy down to WRC headquarters.

Wonwoo sighed. This was the most exciting part of the boring job, and it still was rather slow work. He was looking forward to going back to his own small but clean apartment and finishing the book he was currently reading before going to bed, maybe game for a bit. He wasn't looking forward to laying in bed thinking about Mingyu though.

“Mingyu!” Seungkwan greeted cheerfully. He set a hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you pull up to the gate? You could’ve texted me-”

Wonwoo turned around and the smaller boy’s eyes widened. It was always odd when he finally got close to people he investigated, they always were somehow different. Seungkwan was prettier than through the lens of his camera, his features still round and soft, but a definite warmth about them that he hadn’t been able to see before now. Good eyes. Trusting.

It made him wonder how Jeonghan was going to use the boy. Jeonghan had of course been discreet with the details, but Wonwoo was good at his job and naturally curious, digging a bit more than he had to. Though, things had changed now. He had become more invested that he had originally planned to be in the case, or any case. He realized he may have to delay finishing his book tonight in favour of trying to piece together a bit more of Jeonghan's puzzle.

He grabbed the back of Seungkwan’s jacket and held him still, pressing the cloth into his face. He held the limp body in his arms and sighed.

Easy, quick, effective.

“Sorry about that,” Wonwoo murmured, doing his best to gently lower Seungkwan to the pavement. “Nothing personal.” 


	2. Hansol - The White Rose Company

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If Hansol was a different type of person he would have been rather annoyed. Instead, he took orders with an understanding nod and half a shrug. He didn’t know why he was always the one stuck guarding hostages. He wasn’t even a new or junior member anymore, he had been a part of the White Rose Company for almost three years. He was trusted to carry out business deals and even confided in by their leader, his _friend_ , Seungcheol. Though Hansol was unsure if that really meant anything, Seungcheol’s inamorato ran everything. Nonetheless, Hansol was respected by the entire gang, why was he still guarding hostages? Even to Hansol, who was not one to question a job when assigned, it seemed absurd.

“Where am I?” The hostage in question asked, finally waking up disoriented. His voice was raspy from sleep and his eyes blinked slowly, trying to make sense of how he had come to be tied to a chair in a small dingy room. There wasn’t much to see, Hansol knew that well enough from the hours of boredom spent here.

They were in a spare room used almost solely for interrogations. Four eggshell walls, a small clock with blocky black numbers, and a singular bulb screwed into the ceiling emitting warm white light. The floor was rough dirty cement, no one ever bothered to sweep down here. Hansol hoped the boy would notice the splash of dried brown blood in the corner. He was almost sure it had intentionally been left to send a message for the future unfortunate souls who found themselves stuck here, waiting.

Hansol sat in the hard-backed chair across from the boy, his worn leather boots on top of the cheap card table between them. He hoped to look intimidating, dangerous even – perhaps that was why it was he who had been given this menial job. Hansol knew he could look the right proper part of a gang member, the shaggy dark hair, the piercings, the tattoos. He had gone out of his way to look the part, the way the other members of the White Roses did. To show he was one of them, he belonged.

“You’re being held by the WRC.” Hansol said with a lazy smile, making a show of taking out his switchblade from his pocket and shining it against his black cotton shirt.

From across the table, the boy's brown eyes locked on the blade. “WRC? Like the White Rose Company?”

He looked older than Hansol had initially thought, now that he was awake. When Hansol had been tying the boy, he had seemed almost childlike, all soft edges dressed in soft colours. It had seemed rather odd to him at the time, that someone like this could be somehow in trouble with a gang. But now that he was conscious and talking to him, Hansol could see the boy was older than he had first assumed. The round cheeks and terribly pink mouth were almost pretty, and those dark brown eyes were nothing less than challenging.

“The very one.” He smirked at his hostage, using his knife to point at the tattoo of the white rose on the back of his right hand. He turned the knife to look at his reflection on the blade. Dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin, and black ink.

His hostage started to fidget in his seat, trying to rock back and forth. The hard metal chair scraped against the rough cement, making Hansol flinch despite himself.

“You’re not going anywhere kid, I tied the knots myself.” He said, glancing over at the other side of the table. Both of the boy’s feet were tied to a leg of the chair, and his wrists were bound together behind him. It wasn’t a comfortable position to be, Hansol was sure of that. He wasn’t exactly in the position of caring either.

The rocking stopped. “Why am I here?” He asked, surprising Hansol.

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

Hansol raised an eyebrow, the pierced one, and sheathed his knife. “I’m sure there’s a good reason kid, the WRC doesn’t just hold people hostage at random.”

He, in fact, did not know why they were holding the kid captive. He had gotten back from a meeting across the city when Seokmin had told him to follow. They had ended up outside in the back alley, where Wonwoo was waiting. He had the unconscious boy in the backseat of a car, and together they carried him in. Seokmin had told Hansol to tie the boy up, and wait for further instruction, and _not_ to hurt him.

He and Seokmin had joined the White Roses around the same time, but Hansol didn’t ask why he was the one stuck guarding hostages. Hansol didn’t question instructions, that part came with years of doing dirty work. You had to learn to trust the others if you wanted to survive and move up in rank. Though Hansol still always felt a nagging feeling in his chest with each morally ambiguous act, but he ignored it the best he could. He was relaxed, tried not to worry too much. This was his life now. These people were his family, and they must stick together. Even when it meant doing shitty jobs like this, guarding hostages without knowing why. There could always be worse.

“Stop calling me kid.” The boy gave him a dirty look, still squirming in his seat. “You don’t look much older than me.”

“I’m nineteen.” Hansol offered with a smirk.

“See, so am I.”

Hansol hummed, surprised. “Really? You could’ve fooled me. Not that it’s a bad thing, I’m sure there’s plenty of perks to being able to pass as fifteen.” He couldn’t help but doubt him and didn’t hurt to tease the boy a tad more. He was rather cute.

“Yes! My name’s Seungkwan.” He said with a half-scowl. “Please refrain from calling me anything other than that from hereon in.”

“I don’t think you’re in the position to be giving orders around here,” Hansol said taking his feet down and pulling his chair closer to the table. He leaned an elbow onto the table and looked at Seungkwan, who appeared quite annoyed. Hansol liked the way his bottom lip pouted and his brows came together. It occurred to Hansol that Seungkwan would make a rather poor gangster, he wore his feelings on his sleeve, his face an open book. Not that there was anything wrong with that, he liked the honesty of Seungkwan’s face, Hansol didn’t see enough of it anymore in his line of work. Seungkwan was refreshing.

“What did you do, to end up in this position?”

Seungkwan’s brows furrowed and his mouth turned grim. “I don’t know.” He shook his ruby coloured hair. Hansol liked the way it shone red against his tawny skin. It was a bold choice, a statement. It was the only thing about Seungkwan that looked less…soft, and more firm, if that made any sense. “I really don’t know. Honestly.”

“Well, clearly you did something.” Hansol shrugged, bored with the direction of the conversation.

He wasn’t sure if Seungkwan was playing dumb or was just an oblivious idiot that did something to piss off the Company. He probably just owed them money or something, was caught cheating at one of their gambling houses. Though, Hansol couldn’t really imagine a boy like Seungkwan involved with any of the businesses that the White Rose’s own. Maybe he saw something he shouldn't have and this was just their idea of scaring him out of going to the police, Hansol didn’t fucking know.

“Can you loosen the ties on my wrist?” Seungkwan whined, making Hansol let out a loud snort. “They’re really digging into the skin. It feels like my fingers are going to fall off.”

“No, they’re fine.” Hansol leaned his head back, staring at the cracked ceiling. This guy sure had some nerve. “I tied them myself, remember? This isn’t my first rodeo pal. Your fingers are fine.”

“Since they’re my fingers I don’t think you are in the position to decide whether or not they’re fine-” Seungkwan paused. “What’s your name?”

He debated if he should lie. There was no real harm in a name, besides he really doubted Seungkwan was here for more than a scare. “Hansol.”

“I don’t think you can decide whether my fingers are fine, _Hansol_. Since they are, after all, mine.” Seungkwan said, clearly annoyed. He clearly did not understand what being held hostage meant, did he?

“You’re fine.”

“Hansooooool.” Seungkwan whined, dragging out the last syllable. “Please? Please just check it? Pleassse?”

“You’re fine,”  Hansol said again, the caution and threat going unsaid. He hoped he wouldn’t be stuck here with who was appearing to be Annoying Captive of the Year too long. He was waiting for further instruction, but how long would they let him wait? The longer the wait, the deeper the knife went into Hansol’s back. At least in respect to feeling like he was someone worth being kept privy of such information within the gang.

“Hansol, I can’t believe you would treat me like this.” Seungkwan pouted. He sounded like one of Seungcheol’s ex-girlfriends. “Do I mean so little to you? Do you not have any empathy? Is there any compassion within that cold frame of yours?”

“Are you done?”

“I will be when you loosen the ties on my wrist.” Seungkwan smiled innocently.

“Not going to happen,” Hansol told him, crossing his arms. He realized his initial role as mean scary gangster hadn’t gone quite as well as he had planned.

Seungkwan dropped his smile and looked at him annoyed again. “It will literally do you no harm to make sure my fingers don’t fall off. _And_ it’s not like you’re so busy.”

“For your information, I am very busy.” Hansol retorted. “I’m an important guy around here, and thus very busy by default.”

Seungkwan let out a chuckle, his body straining against the rope as his laugh grew. “Okay, Hansol, Mr. Important guy.” He slowed down, catching his breath. “Because I am such a threat, just too strong and dangerous, they _need_ you, Hansol the best of the best to guard me, no one else is capable of such a treacherous task!” He burst into another fit of laughter at Hansol’s expense, reading him like an open book.

“Stop it.” Hansol huffed. Not pouted. Gangsters didn't pout. “You know I’ve had my fair share of hostages but for fuck sakes, you sure are the sassiest.”

Seungkwan had a tear streaming down his reddened cheek, and he tried to raise his shoulder to wipe it.

“Here.” Hansol sighed, frustrated with watching him struggle and reached across the table and flicked it away.

Seungkwan frowned up at him. “So, you can wipe the tears from my cheek, but you can’t loosen the ties on my wrist, really?”

“Do you know what? Fine.” He got up and went around the table, and knelt behind Seungkwan. His hands were rather red he noticed, maybe he had tied it too tight. Not that he was going to admit that to Seungkwan. He quickly loosened the knot, his fingers working deftly, adjusting the rope a centimetre or two before locking it back into place.

“Much better,” Seungkwan declared, satisfied. “Thank you, Hansol. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Hansol grumbled something resembling a “no” as he collapsed back into his seat. He looked at the clock, frustrated. When were they going to do something with Seungkwan? Clearly, he was of no real importance, otherwise, Hansol would have been informed, right?

“I’m bored,” Seungkwan stated with a sigh after a few minutes.

“Oh, what torture you must endure.” Hansol rolled his eyes.

He had seen some gruesome torture done over the past few years. He hadn’t directly been a part of any of it, but he had seen things that he had tried to push to the back of his mind. But sometimes late at night when Hansol couldn’t fall asleep they came crawling back on all fours, leaving trails of blood.

“What are they going to do with me?” Seungkwan asked.

Hansol could hear the fear in his edging into his voice, barely there. _Good_ , he thought, _finally_.

“Just wait and see.” He threatened. He didn’t know, but Seungkwan didn’t need to know that.

Seungkwan tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck. “It’s just so boring.” He moved his head to the other side, emitting a soft pop. “It’s Sunday. I could be having a lovely bubble bath and reading a book right now, you know that? But somehow, I am here, being held hostage by a fucking gang? On my bubble bath night? You better make this worth my time.”

Hansol couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You are really the worst captive ever, you know, that right?”

“That’s a bit harsh,” Seungkwan chided him. “I’m sure there’s been much worse. Though I do probably deserve the sassiest title. My friend Mingyu, he always says my mouth is what gets me into trouble, but luckily it usually can get me back out again.”

Suddenly a loud knock echoed through the room. Hansol rose and opened the door. Seokmin’s long handsome face greeted him.

“The boss wants to see him.”

“What? Really? Jeonghan wants to-” Hansol paused, correcting himself, allowing a half-embarrassed and half knowing smile at Seokmin. “I _mean_ , Seungcheol wants to really see this kid?”

“Yeah, I was surprised too.” Seokmin shrugged, his typically smiling face frowning, unsure of what to make of the situation. “Grab him. Let’s go.”

They moved quickly. Seokmin blindfolded Seungkwan as Hansol untied his feet.

“Don’t try anything kid,” Seokmin warned him, grabbing Seungkwan roughly from his chair to his feet.

Hansol always found it so bizarre how goofy, smiley Seokmin could transform into the part of a gangster so easily. Almost everyone who played games like this with money and power, life and death, had two sides to them. It was odd at first to Hansol, seeing someone turn from dangerous to teasing, depending on where they were. He had gotten used to it eventually, everyone had a job to do but the rest of the time they were people too.

Seungkwan nodded rapidly, his red hair flopping about wildly. The attitude suddenly gone.

They led him down the musty smelling hall, making a few turns. There was an elevator waiting already, and the doors opened as soon as Hansol pressed the button. He pressed for the top floor, where Seungcheol’s office waited.

It was a long ride up from the basement of the building, where they were holding Seungkwan. The building was mostly rented out to small businesses and used as office space. There was a restaurant on the street level, and the second and third floors held a dentist office and a private holistic health clinic. The rest was mostly office space for companies that White Rose’s owned themselves. Jeonghan had proved how lucrative it was to invest and buy all over the city.

The doors opened and Seokmin roughly pushed Seungkwan out, who stumbled blindly. Hansol felt himself reach out to steady him but stopped himself halfway through the action. What was he doing? It didn’t matter to him if Seungkwan fell, Seokmin was treating him as captives should be treated. Hansol wouldn’t be caught acting soft in front of Seungcheol, whom he owed so much to.

The floor of the hallway was gleaming white tile and large pieces of artwork lined the walls. Typically, hostages of any type were not brought to Seungcheol’s office, he went to the basement if he wanted to see them. The office was for proper business deals, and blindfolded prisoners did not visit them. But, it was Sunday and dirty business doesn’t wait for the workweek. _And_ a direct order wasn’t to be questioned.

As the trio made their way down the brightly lit hallway, Hansol noticed a side table with a vase of white roses sitting under a large mirror between two small oil paintings. Hansol didn’t know much about art, but Seungcheol had explained to him after purchasing them at a private auction that they were by someone very famous. He knew that the tasteful art was Jeonghan’s doing, though he was sure Seungcheol thought it was his idea. Hansol also couldn’t help smirk knowing that Jeonghan probably had swindled the previous owner somehow, cutting a backroom deal with some sort of threat to ensure that Seungcheol wasn’t outbid at the auction.

The hallway opened into a modern, tastefully decorated waiting room. Again, the work of Jeonghan. Before it had been plain, a row of chairs for sitting in when waiting to talk to Seungcheol, and before that, his father. Now the space was bright with large windows, and more art hung from the walls. Two black leather sofas filled the room, and a few armchairs in the spaces between. Glass coffee tables rested next to each sitting place, a vase of white roses on each filling the space with their soft, distinct scent. A reception desk sat opposite the windows, the words “The White Rose Company” in elaborate cursive letters covering the front. A pretty girl sat behind the desk, looking bored. She nodded at them as they passed by, pressing a hand to her earpiece to inform the boss of their arrival.

They stopped in front of the heavy oak door and Hansol knocked twice.

“Come in.” Seungcheol’s voice boomed through the thick wood.

The office was spacious and modern. The smell of roses was stronger here. An entire wall was glass, looking out onto the city as the sunset between the tall buildings. It filled the room with a warm copper and rose tones, reflecting against the white tiles of the floor creating a glow around them. Seungcheol sat behind his desk, another piece of rich wood. He was signing something, his intricately tattooed hands contrasting against the starch white of the cuff of his shirt beneath his dark suit jacket.

Jeonghan was perched elegantly on the corner of the desk, his long slender legs crossed. He was dressed more softly than his counterpart, almost unassuming. A white shirt with the top few buttons undone, and the sleeves rolled up revealing the extensive pastel floral tattoos covering his arms. A thin rouge silk scarf hung loosely from his neck, and his legs were hugged by fitted grey trousers. His straight honey blond hair danced off his shoulders as he looked up from what Seungcheol was signing.

Jeonghan smiled at them, though Hansol knew better than to take it at face value - almost everything Jeonghan did was duplicitous. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it was a lucrative quality that the White Roses had greatly benefited from.

Before Seungcheol had been in charge, it had been his father running things. After he died, it was all left up to his nineteen-year-old son. Soon after, Jeonghan had appeared on Seungcheol’s arm. His pretty face had blinded them all of his true intentions and capabilities.  

Somehow, he had managed to go from Seungcheol's bedroom, to behind him in all affairs. It went from Jeonghan offering an opinion on deals, to Jeonghan making the deals. It wasn't long before it was clear who was weaving the webs around the city, making the White Rose Company a name to be said with reverence and fear. _That’s_ how he had changed the building into a respectable modern office and gotten Seungcheol into a suit and tie.

It had been an interesting thing to watch transpire in front of his own eyes, but it had left Hansol unsure whether he could trust Jeonghan who had brought the gang so far but who must have an ulterior motive. He respected him – he was smart and motivated that was certain. Jeonghan _had_ to be, to do what he had done.

“Undo his blindfold,” Seungcheol ordered shaking his head at the sight of the bound captive. His obsidian hair didn’t move from it’s gelled position, it was shaved on the sides and the top slicked back all harsh lines. “Really, Seokmin, was that your idea? And his wrists while you’re at it. This isn’t how we do things anymore.”

“For the most part,” Jeonghan added softly, tapping a slow beat upon his cheek with a long slender finger.

Hansol untied Seungkwan’s blindfold and shoved the piece of fabric into the back pocket of his jeans. He knelt behind him and freed his hands quickly, and Seungkwan began stretching his fingers, twisting, and popping his stiff wrists.

“Do you know why you’re here, boy?” Seungcheol asked leaning back into his large black leather chair.

“No.” Seungkwan shook his head slowly, still flexing his hands. Hansol watched as Jeonghan dragged his hawkish gaze over the boy, accessing him. Looking for weaknesses to exploit and money to make.

“You are aware of who we are?” Jeonghan smiled sweetly, making the hair on the back of Hansol’s neck rise.

Seungkwan nodded in confirmation. “Yes. The White Rose Company.”

“And you really have no idea why you’re here?” Jeonghan challenged, his feline eyes locked on him. “I find that hard to believe.”

Hansol and Seokmin shared a look from behind Seungkwan. Neither of them had put much value on their captive, but Jeonghan was telling them something much different.

Hansol was filled with the sudden desire to grab Seungkwan’s hand, pull him back and away from Jeonghan and whatever he had planned. He was just a boy, the same age as Hansol yes, but clearly, life had been kinder to him. Seungkwan was sheltered and innocent in too many ways that Jeonghan was clearly intending to send a tsunami crashing down on. Hansol respected Jeonghan, he really did, but he wasn’t sure if he could let him do anything bad to Seungkwan.

Hansol looked to Seungcheol but didn't move.

Seungkwan’s hair blazed red, and his skin gold under the light of the setting sun. He shifted from foot to foot, clearly unsettled by Jeonghan’s pretty face and poison-laced words.

“Maybe I do.” He offered, looking at Jeonghan. “But I’m not going to help you.”

Seungcheol responded with a low chuckle, resting his hand on Jeonghan’s thigh. The two shared a look, Seungcheol stretched his neck to look up, exposing the tattoo of the angel on his neck, wings covering his body, fallen. “Oh, I think you will.”

“I would never.” Seungkwan insisted, though his voice shook, as he took a step back towards the door.

“You will,” Jeonghan’s mouth turned into his sickly-sweet smile again. “If you want to ever see your family in this again, Boo.”


	3. Jeonghan - Fallen Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeonghan attempts to persuade Seungkwan into helping the White Rose Company.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Seungkwan was dragged into the office, Jeonghan hardly recognized him. It has been five whole years since the last time he had seen the boy. Seungkwan had been fourteen and still fully round with baby fat then, but now only his cheeks remained full. And instead of its natural black, Seungkwan’s hair shone a ruby red. Those cheeks were enough to confirm who he was though, that and the belligerent look he was giving them. Seungkwan had always been impertinent, a bit too brazen, and malapert for his own good. A smart man would allow a bit of fear to show when brought bound before a gang leader, it could lead to a bit of sympathy. But Jeonghan knew Seungkwan was too proud for any of that.

He let Seungcheol address the boy first. It was good to let him feel like he held the reins still. When the boy tried to deny knowing why he was there Jeonghan almost let out a laugh. There was no point in playing stupid, they both knew it. He declared he wouldn’t help them, and Jeonghan internally revelled as his plan fell into place.

“I would never.” Seungkwan insisted, voice shaking, taking a step back towards the door.

“You will,” Jeonghan smiled at him. “If you ever want to see your family in this life again, Boo.”

This was something Jeonghan personally never wanted to do. Those godforsaken people, too rich and too stupid to know what to do with it. Well, not that stupid. It had taken Jeonghan months to figure out how to snatch Seungkwan, he was escorted by a bodyguard everywhere he went. Everywhere that is, except when he snuck out at night to visit his best friend Mingyu.

Every Saturday night Seungkwan could be seen climbing down from his bedroom balcony, backpack sagging heavy with bottles of alcohol he undoubtedly had snatched from his parent’s elaborate bar.  Jeonghan and Joshua had done the same thing when they were younger. With a drooping backpack, he crept along the extensive shrubbery, then Seungkwan would slip a few bills to the man guarding the gate. A few minutes later Mingyu’s car would pull up and he would hop in, free – and most importantly to Jeonghan, unguarded. After nearly a month of having Wonwoo watching Seungkwan, they had found their chance.

The colour drained from Seungkwan’s face, taking in the threat. “No, you wouldn’t, Jeonghan.”

So, he did know exactly who he was. Of course, he knew who Jeonghan was - he had seen his face, his body, enough times no doubt, captured forever at sixteen.

“You know very well I would.” He retaliated, getting up off the desk and wrapping his tattooed arms around Seungcheol from behind.  He hadn’t explained to Seungcheol fully the situation he was in. He had given him enough to permit the kidnapping, though Jeonghan knew he would allow him to do anything he wanted. He told Seungcheol some of the sad tale though, it was good to keep him feeling like he was the one with the power, in charge and protecting him.

“I’m sure this isn’t necessary,” Seungkwan objected, giving a sideways glance at Hansol who stood next to him.

The two stood of height, Hansol a bit taller. He was useful, Hansol. He was the one Jeonghan went to when he wanted something done without question. He was easy going, and if you respected Hansol he would respect you, and do as directed with no questions asked. He was close friends with Seungcheol, who had told him that Hansol was just grateful for a place to belong. A purpose.

Seungcheol had told him the story of finding Hansol at sixteen on the streets, getting by on the pity of dumb tourists, telling them in English he’d been robbed and needed money to get home. It was clever enough for him to get by until he ran into some trouble with the law and eventually Seungcheol found him. Seungcheol had offered him a place with the White Roses, and Hansol had eagerly accepted. Hansol was bilingual, easy going, a natural liar, and clever enough. All useful qualities. Jeonghan loved useful things, especially when they were loyal to a fault.

“Hansol, tell Seungkwan that this is indeed necessary," Jeonghan said from behind Seungcheol with a nod.

“I don’t know what exactly is going on,” Hansol admitted looking between him and Seungkwan. He was pretty too, that Jeonghan liked about Hansol. His features were pale and sharp, distinct and definingly foreign. He had hair the colour of coffee, though his brows were lighter, the left one pierced. The black gauges in both his ears popped against his fair skin. The various pieces of steel shone from his ears as he moved under the sepia light of the setting sun, the industrial bar in the right catching the light and flashing at Jeonghan. He had a feeling that Seungkwan too liked how pretty Hansol was too.

“Well, you see Seungkwan’s family has something that belongs to me,” Jeonghan explained, voice dripping with honey. “And I want it back.”

He saw the change in Hansol in his words. He had a sense of morals that the White Roses somehow hadn’t washed from him. Yet.

“If it’s yours then they should give it back,” Hansol said to Jeonghan, but looking at Seungkwan. His jawline protruded, all his features sharp contrasting to Seungkwan’s softer ones.

“I tried asking nicely,” Jeonghan admitted, shaking his head. “They said no.”

In fact, he had begged on his hands and knees, sobbed for Joshua to give it to him. If his parents had let them be, he was sure Joshua would have given in. Joshua had loved Jeonghan, or something close enough to it at one point, despite everything else. There had been so much between them, something that at the time his teenage self-thought would last forever.

Josh had always tried to pull him back down to something realistic, with kind but discouraging words. He had wanted to keep Jeonghan around but wanted to keep the power that came with his birth and money. The type Jeonghan bad been without. But Joshua grew soft for him, they all did eventually, falling victim to that coy smile and the devilish glint in Jeonghan’s eyes. He would have given Jeonghan have the painting, given him the credit and recognition he deserved for being the muse of such an infamous piece. It could’ve opened so many doors for the pretty boy nothing besides his wits. But Joshua’s parents had intervened, saying it was their sons by artistic right. Jeonghan was nothing. That even if they wanted they couldn’t just give it to Jeonghan, Fallen Angel had made Joshua famous.

“You know things are more complicated than that,” Seungkwan argued. Jeonghan agreed, but it didn’t mean there wasn’t a right and wrong in the situation. Something that Hansol was sure to swayed by. That’s why Jeonghan had chosen him. Hansol was always a sucker for moral dilemmas, especially when Jeonghan could make him believe was on the right side.

“The fact is Seungkwan,” Jeonghan let go of Seungcheol and made his way to the front of the desk and leaned against it. “I want what is mine.”

“There’s no ifs, ands, or buts,” Seungcheol added from behind him and Jeonghan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the contribution. For someone who was supposed to be the leader of one of the most powerful crime syndicates in Seoul, he still sometimes lacked the verbal prowess. Luckily one of them had it.

Seungkwan took another step backwards, but Seokmin still had a hand grasping his arm and halted the movement. The sunset painted the scene in rose and gold hues, the mistrust in Seungkwan’s eyes set aglow.

Seokmin was another loyal member of the White Roses. He was the one they usually instructed to tag along with Hansol, the two worked well together. Hansol could convince people into business deals, and Seokmin could make they laugh along the way so they didn’t feel like they were being exploited. His white rose tattoo on his bicep peeked out from beneath his t-shirt. Jeonghan knew he also had roman numerals across the tops of both of his shoulders, the dates of his parent’s deaths. No one with a happy backstory ever joined gangs, why was that? Was it because they took anyone willing enough to look past the dirty deeds in favour of approval and place to belong? That was certainly the case with the two boys in front of him.

“I’m sure you can make a trade with my parents,” Seungkwan said wincing under Seokmin’s tight grip. Hansol noticed too, giving a look to Seokmin from behind to loosen his grip. Jeonghan stored this interesting tidbit, surely it would come in handy later. “Trade me for it.”

“I would, but I just can’t help not trusting them,” Jeonghan chuckled sardonically, running a finger lazily across the desk.

Seungkwan tried to pull out of Seokmin’s grasp. “They would trade it for me, I’m their son.”

Jeonghan’s gaze raked him with disdain. “Their son who dropped out of university? Their son who was arrested for trying to fight another stupid little rich kid while intoxicated? That was a great front pager, by the way. I actually bought the issue.” It had blown up a blurry photo of a red-faced teenager, clearly inebriated grabbing another boy in a similar state by the front of his shirt. The words Spoiled Rotten: Second Boo Son Brawls While Brother Attends Gallery Opening covered the page.

“You’re the second son, Seungkwan. An adoption they learned to regret, we both know it.” An admittedly low blow on Jeonghan’s part, but it was sure to be the tipping point. A sensitive bruise he wasn’t beyond pressing into, and hard. Seungkwan had always been treated differently by his parents, it was clear to Jeonghan the first time he had met them. After Joshua had risen in the art world, proving his worth to the family name Jeonghan could only assume things got worse. At least from what his sources and the headlines told him.

“No, you’re wrong.” Seungkwan whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

He shook his head. “I don’t think I am.”

“What do you want me to do then?” Seungkwan asked leveling a glowering look, defeated.

“I want you to help us steal it.”

All three of the boys in front of him looked surprised. Good, thought Jeonghan. They needed the element of surprise if they were going to be successful. He was done waiting, he had waited five years. He had started from the bottom and worked his way to his current position. It was more than that. When he had met Seungcheol two years ago the White Roses were hardly more than semi-organized petty crime, an ensemble of drug dealers and loan sharks.

He had been nineteen, working at a brothel that the White Roses owned, The Blooming Rose. He had been among the young men and women, adorned in lace and silk and spent their time lounging on velvet chaise lounges waiting for their next high-rolling customers. The Blooming Rose was probably the nicest and most profitable business they owned at the time. The customers were not Johns from the streets, the prices matched the merchandise, and not just anyone could afford a night with Jeonghan.

When the workers were told the new owner was going to be visiting Jeonghan had been in a plum kimono, a string of gifted pearls hanging heavy on his chest. He had decided then and there, the life he was living was going to end. This was his last night as something to be sold. He was more than a commodity. He was made for great things. And he was going to do whatever it took to make the new owner fall in love with him, even if it was just his body for now. The rest would come later.

And it had. Jeonghan had left hand in hand with Seungcheol. Three weeks later, lying in their bed together, chests heaving, Jeonghan had convinced him to sell The Blooming Rose. Seungcheol had agreed to it easily enough, it was a simple thing to do for Jeonghan. By then he was in love more than Jeonghan’s body.

What Jeonghan had not anticipated was the true state of the gang. But he was smart, and had spent the past two years making pillow talk with some the richest men that lived in and visited Seoul . Jeonghan was capable and quick to learn new tricks. All he had to do was make sure Seungcheol thought it all was his own idea, and it was done. Jeonghan had made the White Rose Company what is was today, a rich notorious gang people feared and respected. That’s what the white rose symbolized wasn’t it? _Respect_.

“So, what do you say, Boo Seungkwan?” Jeonghan smirked, dragging the steel ball on the tip of his tongue across the top of his teeth. “Will you help us steal what is rightfully mine?”

Seungkwan’s mouth crept into a smile that reflected Jeonghan’s own. “My family is kind of the worst.”

“Literally the worst.”

Hansol raised his pierced eyebrow at Seungkwan. “You’re going to help us steal from your own family?”

Seungkwan scrunched his nose. “As I said, they’re kind of the worst.”

“Hansol, have Seungkwan make a call to his parents. Ensure he tells them that he is fine but not going home anytime soon.” Seungcheol ordered, and Jeonghan stretched a hand out to him, which he took. “He will stay with you for the time being as well.”

This Jeonghan had not been expecting but didn’t disapprove of. Maybe Seungcheol was finally catching on, learning to watch and use what he saw - one could hope.

“With me, really?” Hansol protested, stepping towards them. “Are you sure that’s wise Seungcheol? I mean he is still a captive right, shouldn’t he be kept here?”

Seungcheol shrugged, the shoulders of his suit jacket lifting slightly. “Are you here willingly Seungkwan?”

He shrugged. “I suppose I am.”

“There you have it Hansol, he’s not a captive. He’s a guest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think and if this style/genre/au/type of story is something you guys like ! 
> 
> thanks for reading :))
> 
> ps i'll probs go back and add more details the more i write to make sure it all makes sense so dont drag me if you go back and read and there's slight changes or more description lol im sorry


	4. Seungkwan - Earthen Grime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seungkwan stays with Hansol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rly just backstory and filling in some blanks (and of course making some more)
> 
> enjoy:)

 

 

Seungkwan wasn’t quite sure how he how he had ended up in this position. The position being waiting for the man who had tied him to a chair in a dingy basement, to wake up on the other side of the bed. And like, tied up in not even a _sexy_ way. Like, an actual captive with no rights way.

Hansol had tried to make him sleep on his couch, a stained old thing that sunk under Seungkwan’s weight, the springs cutting into him. Seungkwan had never slept on a couch before, but he doubted that they were supposed to make the filthy floor look this appealing.

“They said you were to treat me like a guest.” Seungkwan had reminded Hansol after informing him he was _not_ going to be sleeping on the couch.

“You’re in my apartment and I fed you. That’s treating you like a guest.”

Seungkwan was frankly disgusted by Hansol’s small apartment. There were takeout containers piled on the counter, and dirty clothes left forgotten on the floor. It was more than the need to take of the garbage and do laundry, the apartment looked as if it hadn’t been updated or cleaned in either of their lifetimes. Seungkwan couldn’t believe people lived like this, that _he_ had to live like this, albeit temporarily.

“You fed me takeout from the restaurant that your fucking gang owns and had me hold it while I tried not to fall off the back of your goddamn motorcycle.” Seungkwan scoffed, stepping around a used discarded napkin on the floor.

He had been terrified when Hansol had handed him a helmet and gestured for him to get on the back. Seungkwan had tried to hide his fear. Though, from the smirk on Hansol’s face, as he got on, he wasn’t very successful.

He had gripped the sides of Hansol’s jacket until his knuckles turned white as they raced around corners. All the while, trying to keep the containers of food on the seat between them from flying off. After the initial shock had passed Seungkwan had actually enjoyed the ride. It was sort of thrilling to see the city race by with no barriers.

“I always get takeout there,” Hansol shrugged heading into his bedroom. “I’m not much of a cook.”

Seungkwan followed him, shooting a glance at the small dingy kitchen. “Clearly.”

The food had been _all righ_ t. But he had been so hungry by then it didn’t matter what it tasted like. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. But it had been _before_ being fucking kidnapped.

“I’m not giving up my bed,” Hansol informed him, pulling his black cotton t-shirt over his head in one easy motion. Everything he wore was black, that was something Seungkwan had noticed. Black shirt, black jeans, black leather jacket.“And I don’t have to do whatever Jeonghan says. It’s more of a suggestion. A guideline.”

Seungkwan raised an eyebrow doubtfully. His gaze cruised Hansol’s pale lean bare torso, intrigued by the ink revealed. He looked up at Hansol, who seemed a bit embarrassed under such scrutiny.

“Sorry,” Seungkwan blushed, sitting down on the white sheets of the unmade bed. The room was bare, a bed and dresser. The window was open, letting in a cool breath of night air and the colour of the city lights. “But I can’t sleep on that couch. It’s yours, you can sleep on it.”

“I have a bed,” Hansol frowned down at him. “Why wouldn’t I sleep in it?”

Seungkwan laid back onto the soft sheets, stretching his arms above him. “Your guest shall be sleeping in it. I need to recover from being drugged, kidnapped, tied to a chair -  thanks for that - and being held, hostage.”

He didn’t really remember being kidnapped. He had been sneaking out to hang out with Mingyu like he had almost every Saturday in the past few months. His parents had put him on house arrest, forbidding him from leaving the property without their permission and a bodyguard. It was ridiculous, Seungkwan wasn’t a child, they just didn’t want any more scandals. That is if you consider his only ever physical altercation being caught on camera and sold to the tabloids.

It had been fucking Wen Junhui, born to similarly wealthy as his own and the bane of his existence since childhood. He was Chinese but attended the elite school in Korea, the same one as Seungkwan had. Jun had been a child actor, flying back to China for filming in the middle of the school year, often. He would tell anyone who listened to him, teachers, and students alike, how they should watch for him on TV and offer autographs.

He had teased Seungkwan relentlessly, played jokes that Seungkwan found anything but funny. Still, years later whenever the two ran into each other they were at each other’s throats. When Mingyu had pointed him out at the party they had been attending, an end of summer bash for the other rich kids in their circle, Seungkwan had planned to be the bigger person and ignore him. It was a large enough event he could easily avoid Jun. But Jun had come with an ulterior motive.

After a few choice words from Jun, bringing up the old classics, but also some new ones involving his brother, and his shadow of which he was in, Seungkwan had grabbed him the front of his shirt. Mingyu had pulled him away, but it was too late. A flash had captured the image of him drunkenly fighting and was sold and given a headline out of context. All of course orchestrated by the dear Jun.

That was the last straw for his parents. They couldn’t have him tarnishing the family name any further. That’s all Seungkwan seemed to do according to them, create trouble and make them look bad. The exact opposite of his brother Joshua, in their eyes. But it was Joshua’s fault that he was in this position, working with a fucking gang.

“Okay, you had a shit day, I’ll give you that,” Hansol had chuckled as he flopped down on the bed next to him. Seungkwan could feel the heat radiating from his body. The quick change of the dynamic between them still had his head reeling to catch up. They had gone from hostage and guard to host and guest, all in such a short time frame. “But that doesn’t mean I'm going to give up my bed.”

“Well I’m your guest and I’m not moving,” Seungkwan stated closing his eyes.

He felt the mattress spring up as Hansol rose. “Fine.”

“Really?” Seungkwan asked surprised, opening his eyes. He was used to getting his way about most things when it came to people who weren’t his family but wasn’t expecting some gang kid to just _give up_.

Hansol was stepping out his jeans, his legs toned and covered in more black ink. “It’s just a bed.” He grabbed the blankets from the end and got in. “I used to share all the time/ It was nice if you actually got a bed.”

Seungkwan cocked an eyebrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I used to live on the streets,” Hansol said with a yawn. “If I got a bed for the night in one of the shelters it was a treat, especially in the winter. You quickly learn to reevaluate what’s important when you have to live without, you know?”

Seungkwan didn’t know. He had always had more than enough, big house with staff, the best schooling, more than his share of delicious food. He couldn’t imagine the life Hansol was describing, being grateful over a _bed_.

“Can I shower?” He asked, getting up.

“Yeah, sure,” Hansol mumbled, sleep creeping into his voice. “There should be clean clothes in the top drawer if you want. Turn the light off when you go.”

The bathroom was also outdated and covered in a layer of grime. He showered quickly, afraid the hot water would run out. He dressed in Hansol’s black clothes and couldn’t help but blush when he looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t look hard, like he was made of marble and dangerous as Hansol did, his eyes were too soft for that. But he did look slightly less out of place here in the black cotton compared to his pastel cashmere.

When he climbed back into bed next to Hansol, the other boy was snoring softly. Despite the state of his apartment, Hansol himself was clean and Seungkwan breathed in his scent. It was good, rich, and earthy. He found Hansol’s presence next to him in bed soothing, the mix of his smell and soft rhythmic breathing. Seungkwan had never really shared a bed with another person. When friends (except Mingyu) stayed over, they usually slept in one of the many guest rooms, as was their purpose. Feeling the warmth of another body and hearing the steady breathing was foreign, but also good. He fell asleep quickly.

He also woke before Hansol and had been waiting for him to stir for some time. Seungkwan’s stomach grumbled. He hoped Hansol’s idea of breakfast wasn’t food from the restaurant the White Rose Company owned, though he had a feeling it was. That was going to get boring quick.

The duvet had managed to be pulled down during the night, revealing Hansol’s torso in the early morning light. Seungkwan inspected the tattoo he had glimpsed at the previous night. It was large, covering his entire side from his rib cage to his hip bone. It was done to make it look like Hansol was a machine or robot of sorts. The ink leaving trails of skin untouched, making the gears look inside him. It was clever, Seungkwan thought. It was the type of thing Josh would like for the artistic skill and Mingyu for the simple badassery of it.

Hansol groaned rolled towards Seungkwan, pale hand falling across his torso. Again, Seungkwan was hit with his smell. It was intoxicating, a huge improvement from the last time he had woken up with Hansol in the room.

When he had woken in the basement of the WRC building, the first thing he had noticed was the pungent musky smell. His entire body had ached. His arms burned, strained, and stretched behind the back of a hard-folding chair, tied together too tightly at the wrist. He hadn’t known where he was. As his memory slowly stitched together the pieces -  _he had been fucking kidnapped_  - he had almost wanted to laugh. If he had been, his captors were in for a surprise when his parents refused to pay the ransom. Hell, they probably would thank them for getting Seungkwan off their hands.

“You’re being held by the WRC.” His jailer, Hansol, had told him.

Seungkwan's first reaction was  _fuck_. He was handsome, his hair dark, rich and smooth. His features were cut from marble, though he had tattooed, pierced, and stretched it in various places. He looked vaguely dangerous, and Seungkwan had been _very_ intrigued. His instinct reaction was to text Mingyu about the cute boy. Probably not the best reaction considering his situation.

“WRC? Like the White Rose Company?” He had asked, needing confirmation before jumping to the worst possible conclusion.

His captor smirked, using the tip of his knife to tap the tattoo of the white rose on the back of his hand. “The very one.”

He knew the White Roses were a growing gang in the city. Not that Seungkwan would have been aware of any of this, except for the fact that Joshua had seen Jeonghan on the arm of some gangster at a private art auction.

He had been so bewildered seeing Jeonghan there. Josh had asked around, finding out that the man Jeonghan was with was the leader of the notorious White Rose Company. He had called in a panic, asking Seungkwan why Jeonghan would get involved with a _gang_ of all things. Seungkwan didn’t have any answers.

He remembered Jeonghan, but not well. He had always been a bit quiet, following his brother around with a mischievous smile. If you listened to the way Joshua talked he had saved Jeonghan, his family was poor, and he was at their prestigious school on scholarship. He saw himself as doing charity work being friends with the Jeonghan like it was a good deed, and everyone should know what a good person he was. Though after a while Seungkwan could clearly see there was more between the two boys. _Fallen Angel_ had proved just that.

It was a masterpiece, simply put, and had gathered international recognition and fame for Joshua. Seungkwan could remember the first time he had seen his brother’s painting.

It was composed of the same basic things that made up many great pieces of art, oil on canvas. But what his brother had created, had captured in the brushstrokes was revolutionary. Critics called him a genius, though Seungkwan thought that was a bit much.

The painting itself was a life-sized portrait of Jeonghan lying nude, his head resting with his hands stretched out in front of him. His hips turned to the side towards the viewer and his slender legs were bent forwards. Large white wings from Jeonghan’s back were half spread, one behind him along the ground, and the other resting on top of his bare hip. Jeonghan watched you through partially closed eyes, long dark lashes against honey skin. It was beautiful and haunting in the way only a creature created perfectly, cast down to Earth from Heaven could be.

Their parents had shown the painting to some of their friends after a dinner party one evening, and after that everything had happened so quickly. Joshua didn’t even tell Jeonghan until after it all blew up, though Seungkwan didn’t find that out until later.

Jeonghan had come to their door begging for Joshua to stop showing the painting, to give it to him. Seungkwan had listened from the top of the stairs as their parents stepped in, dismissing Jeonghan and having him forcibly removed for their home. Seungkwan hadn’t fully understood back then the damage that had been done, but as soon as he heard the name White Rose Company, he knew. _Jeonghan wanted revenge._

He didn’t really blame Jeonghan. He had been young and had trusted Joshua. Then to have that trust broken and exploited by Seungkwan’s parents, given nothing in means of payment even. But Jeonghan had changed, the man he had been dragged in front of wasn’t the shy boy Seungkwan had known, he was _dangerous_.

Though, kidnapping Seungkwan to help his - his what - _sugar daddy’s_ -  gang steal a fucking painting? It was a bit much, even for Seungkwan who had a flair for the dramatics. Seungkwan didn’t really know how to help them, he was like his parents insisted, useless. Maybe Mingyu could help somehow, he always knew what to do (or at least, had different types of ideas than Seungkwan did). Mingyu was probably confused as to why Seungkwan had blown him off, probably assuming his parents had found out about their expeditions. He needed his phone back, to text Mingyu if nothing else. He had used Hansol’s to call his parents while they ate yesterday, saying he was gone and wouldn’t be home any time soon. Don’t come looking. They hadn’t been pleased.

His stomach growled again.

“Hansol,” He whispered. They were face to face, Hansol’s arm still heavy draped on Seungkwan’s side. “Wake up.”

“No,” Hansol grumbled, eyes still closed, pulling Seungkwan closer to his bare chest.

“Hansol, wake up.”

How had he ended up in bed with the extremely attractive man who only yesterday had him tied as a fucking hostage? If there was a God, he was mocking him.

Hansol ignored him.

“Seriously, wake up.” Seungkwan pushed him away, annoyed.

Hansol opened his eyes and looked at him, bleary-eyed and confused. Seungkwan could see the moment of recognition on his face when Hansol realized what he had been doing.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, just feed me.”

“Get dressed and we’ll go.” Hansol stretched and yawned. “Seungcheol said to meet back at headquarters early. Jeonghan is not a patient man and wants the job done as soon as possible.”

Seungkwan frowned at the indication of breakfast being from the restaurant at the building. He was also surprised by the fact Jeonghan thought this was a time sensitive issue, he had been waiting for five years for the painting.

“What’s the rush?” He asked, grabbing his jeans from the floor.

“Don’t know. Just that there is one.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i feel like i'm adding more backstory than anyone cares for ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> please comment what you think tho!! :)


	5. Seungcheol - The Rose Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> next chapter! finally!

 

 

Seungcheol sat in his office sipping on coffee and listening to Chan give an update of the progress of some of their less tasteful affairs. Jeonghan stood behind him, his constant counsel, with an elegant hand resting on his suited shoulder.

“The new Chinese member of the foreign affairs council is relatively clean,” Chan shrugged. “Nothing too dirty in his past. I did dig up something he had tried to bury but I’m not sure of how useful it is.”

“Knowledge is power,” Jeonghan replied coolly.

Seungcheol found it a redundant thing to say to a boy whose main form of currency was secrets.

“He has a single son, his heir, his pride and joy,” Chan rolled his eyes. “You know the type. Anyways, seems like he bought his precious son his university admittance and guaranteed a degree from the school. Business maybe? Or art? I couldn't quite find a definitive answer. Anyways, he’s allowed various travelling perks between here and China too, more than even _you_ could probably manage.” He addressed that last part to Jeonghan, with an impressed raise of an eyebrow.

Seungcheol had heard of politicians and other wealthy people doing such things. There was politics, and there were laws, and there were people with power. Power was all that mattered at the end of the day. It could be fun. It could be dangerous. “Anything else?”

“The boy seems to get into his fair share of trouble, but what teenager doesn’t?” Chan chuckled. “Minor drug user, like most rich kids. Gambling too. He has access to enough money for all sorts of trouble.”

Seungcheol liked Chan, he was relatively new to the White Roses, Jeonghan’s latest find. Only eighteen, but Seungcheol often forgot since the kid was so damn good at his job. He was cleaner cut than any of the other members, his hair it’s natural black and his skin clear except for the white rose tattoo that adorned his right wrist. He was young, but not innocent. Not anymore at least.

“Fair enough,” Jeonghan remarked, his hand moving from Seungcheol’s shoulder to stroke his neck, his tattoo, softly. It was a comforting action to Seungcheol, and one of second nature to Jeonghan. Chan watched the movement before glancing away quickly.

Despite the vox populi, Seungcheol was very aware what others thought of him and his relationship with Jeonghan. They all saw him as someone simply blinded by love - or lust, depending on who you asked - who allowed himself and his position to be used. That he didn’t know what Jeonghan was. Seungcheol let everyone go ahead thinking it though, it was good for friends and enemies alike to hold some misconstructions. He did love Jeonghan, he wouldn’t deny it. He had fallen fast and hard for the boy, something that his father would’ve found deplorable.

 _You don’t play with your food Seungcheol. You don’t fall in love with a prostitute and take him home with you._ He tried not to think what his father would have said. He was dead now, his legacy if not for Jeonghan would have been hardly more than a catchy name and a band of criminal misfits.

His father had been a man of big ideas and dreams, an orator to lost souls with dirty hands. He had created the White Roses himself, scraping the bottom of the barrel for the kids with street smarts and an affinity for getting into trouble. He had run the WRC for years like that, but the discretion between his fanciful words and his actions was something that Seungcheol had struggled to ignore as he got older. He had always known they could be something much more, but it wasn’t until Jeonghan did he truly believed they would be.

Seungcheol had been aware that the WRC owned a brothel, The Blooming Rose but had never actually visited it until after his father had died. He had been going through papers and was floored by the findings: his father had been practically running a charity for years. A few big drug deals, some loans, and not much else - besides the prosperous Blooming Rose, that was. The brothel’s quarterly income was more than the annual of all the rest combined. It had intrigued Seungcheol. _What kind of establishment was this exactly?_

He had made a call, informing them that he, the new owner would be visiting. He had been nineteen but far from naive or innocent, a gang leader’s son lost those things at a young age. Still, he felt uncertain when he walked into the Blooming Rose. He hadn’t known what to expect, but the elegant and sensual place he found was beyond anything he could have imagined.

He had gone during their off hours, early afternoon. He hadn’t wanted to visit during the evening knowing that there was business to be done then, money to be made. The grandeur took Seungcheol back, it was alluring in all the ways he hadn’t expected.

The shining floors were checkered, large black and white tiles reaching across the open room to a small raised platform and an adjacent staircase. There was a series of five tall windows that illuminated the room, diaphanous curtains hung to the floor and swayed lightly in the breeze. The room sang of opulence. Numerous chaise lounges and sofas were tastefully spread about, tall vases painted with erotic scenes decorated the corners. Unlit candles waited atop elaborate gold candelabras, and an extravagant chandelier hung from the ceiling. There were various doors leading off, though they were subtle and the last thing he noticed. He was sure he knew their purpose though.

The main room had been almost completely empty at the time. Only a young man with long hair had been perched in one of the chaise lounges, reading. It was he, who was the first thing Seungcheol had noticed. His hair hung over the edge of the chair and shone in the sun like spun gold.

Seungcheol had approached slowly, curious to the type of people who could be found here. As he made his way, he passed a tall Grecian statue of Aphrodite and couldn’t help but notice the red lipstick print on its cheek and allowed a small smirk.

His gaze openly cruised the boy’s figure. He was lithe, a series of smooth bare graceful limbs. He wore only a pair of black silken shorts and an untied silken kimono. He had no question of what the boy was, or who he worked for. The White Rose Company. _Him._

“What are you reading?” Seungcheol had asked, sitting on a plush velvet stool next to him.

The boy had looked up, annoyance clear on his pretty face. Seungcheol had seen the quick flash of assessment in his feline eyes before he pulled his mouth into a coquettish smile. He should have known then.

Seungcheol had worn black dress pants and a white button-down shirt, his attempt at looking businesslike. He was unsure of how successful he was - he was still a tattooed teenager with a lot to learn.

“The Great Gatsby,” The boy replied, not moving from his idle position. “Have you read it?”

“No,” Seungcheol admitted. “What’s it about?”

“It’s set in America - New York, during the twenties. A rich man basically orders his life around his one desire,” He said licking his lips. “doing anything to be reunited with his love he lost touch with years earlier because of the war.”

Seungcheol nodded slowly. “That doesn’t sound too bad. I may have to read it sometime, though I’m pretty busy nowadays.”

He had eventually ended up picking up Jeonghan’s dog-eared copy almost a year later. He found it terribly ironic how this had been the book Jeonghan had been reading when they first met, and how he had spun it in the most romanticized way possible. It was a cautionary tale of greed and ambition, a man amassing a mysterious identity all for the sole purpose of hoping to win over his love, a married woman. It all led to his downfall, of course, money never being able to buy happiness. He wondered if Jeonghan had found the story galvanizing in all the wrong ways, maybe he had wanted to prove it wrong. That it could be done, no one had ever succeeded yet because  _Jeonghan_   _hadn’t tried it_.

“I’m Jeonghan,” The boy told him in a smoky voice, finally sitting up. Seungcheol saw long his golden hair was exactly, it falling in smooth silken sheets past his shoulders. “What would you like me to call you?”

“My name is Seungcheol,” He replied, wondering if the name would mean anything to him. “Choi Seungcheol.”

Jeonghan set the book down on the intricately carved dark wood side table. Even his fingers possessed a certain grace and elegance, long and slender. “Would like me to call you master then? Or something slightly less rudimentary?”

So, Jeonghan did know who he was.

“Seungcheol is fine for now.”

“And what are you here for Seungcheol?” Jeonghan had inquired, his voice almost as honeyed as his hair. “For business or pleasure?”

Seungcheol hadn’t known the answer until Jeonghan had asked, with that amorous look in his eyes.

“Pleasure.”

He had seen what Jeonghan was from the very start. He knew what he was, a beautiful and clever manipulator. He was smart, there was no denying that. Seungcheol thought that Jeonghan was more intelligent than himself in most ways, a certain perspicacious judgment that was quite lucrative. He loved Jeonghan it was true, but he loved every part of him. The good and the bad, all the dirty tricks he played and webs he spun. Seungcheol loved him in ways that he knew even Jeonghan wasn’t aware of.

But he wasn’t as forsworn as anyone, including Jeonghan thought. Like the matter of selling the Blooming Rose, something Jeonghan had asked him to do only after weeks of knowing him. Seungcheol had understood why the boy would want it gone from their lives, it brought them together, but it had been home to him during his hardest years. Seungcheol hadn’t thought it appropriate or fair to mention how it was probably the nicest sex work Jeonghan could have found, but he knew the boy still had hated it and faced his share of unpleasantries. He still couldn’t let the brothel go, at least not then when it was their best source of income. Seungcheol had lied to Jeonghan, telling him he had sold it but had just transferred it under a different sector of the gang. He had eventually sold it, though it was recently, only a few months ago. They didn’t need the money anymore, Jeonghan proving himself to be the real golden goose.

“Has Minghao found anything new in the Boo security front?” Jeonghan asked Chan, his fingers still making slow strokes on Seungcheol’s neck.

Chan shook his head. “Nothing new or of value at least. He thinks he could get in if there was something maybe blocking all the cameras, a crazy storm or something. But that wouldn’t be of much use in retrieving anything sizable.”

“Where is the damn wraith?” Seungcheol took another sip of his coffee. “I told him this was an important meeting.”

“Sleeping maybe.” Chan shrugged. “Getting into trouble of his own.”

Minghao had been Jeonghan’s first little project. They had been attending a travelling Chinese circus and Minghao had been one of the acrobats performing. Seungcheol knew that Jeonghan was curious from the start, watching intently as the boy balanced, scaled walls, and flipped on the ground or in the air. He was young and lissome, his body seemed to defy gravity as he moved.

“Someone like that could be useful,” Jeonghan had leaned over, and whispered into Seungcheol’s ear. “Imagine the places he could get into without anyone knowing.”

After the show, Jeonghan had led Seungcheol behind the scenes to look for the acrobat. They had found Minghao being dragged by the hair and cursed at by one of the trainers.

Jeonghan had halted in his tracks. Seungcheol knew despite the other’s attempts at an unmoving heart that he had his own moral code of some sort. He had just had own views of justice and had a weak spot for lost souls of a certain type, Seungcheol had yet to determine what exactly that was though. But it was part of how Seungcheol knew that Jeonghan wasn’t all bad, despite what everyone else, including Jeonghan thought.

They had waited until they saw the trainer leave, and Jeonghan had gone and talked to the boy alone. Seungcheol didn’t know what he had said, but fifteen minutes later the boy and his few possessions were in the car with them, much to the confusion of their driver.

Later that night in bed, Jeonghan had shrugged when asked why he did it. “He’s talented and will be quite useful. A good addition to the White Roses. Besides, it’s not like he didn’t know what he was saying yes to. I made it quite clear what kind of organization we are.”

Seungcheol frowned at Chan from behind his coffee. “Find him. I want him here to meet the newest addition to our team.”

“You got the boy?” Chan’s dark eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Seungkwan is here of his own volition,” Jeonghan informed Chan with a smirk. “It took hardly any persuasion.”

“ _Thank fuck_ ,” Chan let out a heavy breath, his shoulders relaxing. “Literally any detail he can give will be helpful to get in. But maybe we won’t need to break in with him on our side, right?”

Jeonghan gave him a slight nod, suppressing a smile. He had a definite soft spot for the boy. “We’ll see how helpful Seungkwan is exactly. Now go and find Minghao, I want him to hear first-hand everything our dear little Boo has to say.”

“Go,” Seungcheol waved a hand. “Hansol will be here with the boy soon.”

Hansol had become one of Seungcheol’s closest friends over the years. He was the reason Hansol had joined the White Roses, another kid off the street looking for a place to belong. He knew that was Hansol’s weakness.

Seungcheol had given Jeonghan some pleasant fictitious story about Hansol to prove the extent of his loyalty, but hid the truth, owing his friend that much. The truth was simply sad. Hansol’s mother had been a white American, where he got his foreign features. Both she and Hansol’s younger sister had died in a car accident when Hansol was fourteen, leaving his father broken and angry. Anger that he had taken out on Hansol, being reminded of his wife every time his son walked into the room.

It had taken Hansol a year until he started just not coming home, staying on the streets rather than go home to more bruises. He had managed to convince himself to go home, that his dad loved him, he was the only family he had left. Instead, he had gone home and gotten a beating so bad that he could hardly see or walk. Seungcheol had found him in the alley outside one of the gambling houses the WRC owned. Thinking that he had been nearly beaten to death by either one of the workers or a customer, Seungcheol had taken it upon himself to remove the boy. He took him back to headquarters and cleaned him up, eventually adopting him as a friend and member of the White Roses.

It had paid off. Hansol was loyal, Seungcheol trusted him fully and knew without question that he would never betray them. It was good, a rare thing to find in anyone, let alone in a gang. But Seungcheol had seen the way Hansol had looked at that boy yesterday, Seungkwan, and it had made him wonder. Hansol was loyal to a fault, but where would his loyalties lie when it came to matters of the heart?

 


	6. Hansol - Planting Seeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol guess who didn't die/ forget about this story
> 
> im so sorry

 

 

 

 

“To quote some old dead white guy,” Jeonghan began, shutting the door behind Hansol. “I’m not much of a petty thief, I want the world or nothing.” He turned and offered them all his best plotting smile.

Hansol quickly surveyed the office. He hadn’t quite realized the extent of Jeonghan’s plans until now.

Sitting on the arm of a chair was Chan, a younger and newer member. He didn’t know him well, though he had a growing reputation. From Hansol’s understanding, Chan was an asset to the gang, someone who could find out the dirtiest of secrets. Hansol was wary of the younger boy though, he was one of Jeonghan’s favourites. Seokmin had even gone as far as to suggest that Jeonghan babied Chan in a way, something Hansol found hard to believe. He couldn’t see Jeonghan caring for anyone more than himself.

“Nice of you to join us.” Minghao chirped, as they made their way further into the room. He stood beside Chan, tall and slender. He was another one of Jeonghan’s creatures. But he and Hansol were friends, despite it.

Minghao wasn’t necessarily duplicitous like Jeonghan, but he definitely had two sides to him. One was a goofy kid who liked to joke and was shamelessly adorable a times, the other was a skillful acrobat of sorts with a skill with knives. Hansol had heard Seungcheol refer to Minghao as a wraith, a ghost, from time to time. The boy was a skillful climber and possessed great agility and coordination, moving in ways that did seem unnatural almost at times. He had gathered some of the White Rose’s most useful information, albeit in unconventional and rather unlawful ways.

Besides Jeonghan, Seungcheol, Minghao, Seokmin, and Chan, there was one other, and the sight of him sent waves of realization across Hansol. Jihoon. Whatever Jeonghan had in mind, it was no game or laughing matter. Jihoon meant danger. Serious shit.

 “So, Seungkwan,” Jeonghan began, heading to the desk. Some people looked dangerous holding guns or knives, others simply had a glint in their eyes and an aura threatening of what to come. Jeonghan was dressed in a well fitted black checkered suit and had his long hair tied up. He looked as dangerous as Hansol had ever seen him. “What can you offer us in terms of information about retrieving the painting.”

Seungkwan came up beside Hansol, brushing their arms together. Hansol did his best to ignore the slight contact, and the hum it ignited in his skin.

“Not sure.” Seungkwan crossed his arms, glancing around the room, inventorying his company. “I might be able to help if you give me my phone.” Poor bastard didn't know what he was involved with yet. His world was about to change.

Hansol had forgotten about his phone, Seungkwan had used his last night to call his parents. This morning he had asked about his own, wanting to text his friend and say he was alright.

“Do we have the boy’s phone?” Jeonghan asked the room with a sigh.

Seungcheol opened a draw and tossed the phone onto the desk. “Here.”

Seungkwan eagerly took it and began to tap away on it next to Hansol.

“So, are you going to tell us why we’re all fucking here?” Jihoon asked arms crossed looking up belligerently from beneath the brim of his hat. He sat with his legs spread, though the smallest in the room he seemed to take up the most space to Hansol. Jihoon was lethal, in every sense of the word. Cold, hard, and dangerous. The perfect hitman.

“If you listened, you’d have learned I want the world or nothing,” Jeonghan replied in a teasing tone. Hansol could hear something dangerous lacing those words though. Jihoon clearly did too, but he didn’t seem to care. “Alas, Seungcheol said no.”

Hansol and the others chuckled, but Jihoon just cocked an eyebrow, waiting.

“To quote another dead white guy, art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time,” Jeonghan leaned against the desk, his dark eyes shining. Elegant. Dangerous. “So, how do the Roses feel about a heist?”

Hansol nodded and looked around the room where smirks were being exchanged. If there was one thing these boys loved, it was a challenge. The legality of it didn't matter.

“Fallen Angel?” Minghao asked, sounding skeptical. “Do we have a plan? Because last time I checked the security was maxed out and even I couldn’t get in, let alone bring it back out.”

“Seungkwan,” Jeonghan gestured to the boy, still tapping rapidly at his phone. “Introduce yourself to everyone.”

He looked up, giving Hansol a nervous glance. His dark eyes were wide and unsure, taking all the faces staring at him.

Hansol nodded in encouragement. He knew Seungkwan could hold his own, he had seen that already in the short time of knowing him.

“I’m Boo Seungkwan,” He gave a little and rather out of place wave to everyone. “The painting, Fallen Angel, is in my family’s possession.”

Jeonghan grinned at the room. “And he’s going to help us get it back.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan gave Jeonghan a side glance. “I’m not quite sure how I’m supposed to do that.”

Hansol let out a laugh, turning it into a faux cough at Jeonghan's glare. “Sorry.”

“Well Seungkwan,” Seungcheol began from his seat. “You, unlike any of the rest of us, know the house. You know the security measures to some degree, and are allowed to fucking go in it without causing much of a fuss.”

“Yes, that’s all true.” Seungkwan agreed, “But I can’t just casually walk out of the house carrying the painting? You may not realize this, but it’s huge. It’s bigger than me!”

Hansol hadn’t known this. The sheer size of the painting was sure to be something they’d have to consider and work around. He was still rather unclear why they were stealing Seungkwan’s brother’s painting if he was being honest. Jeonghan had said it belonged to him, and he had tried to get it back, but Hansol couldn’t see why it would be his, and why he would want it so desperately.

“You will enter your parent’s home, bringing Hansol and Chan along for show and tell.” Jeonghan began, gesturing at the two of them. “Sometime during the early stages of the visit, Chan will excuse himself and locate the security system controls. Seungkwan you know where these are I hope?”

He nodded, but he didn’t look too confident.

“Chan will thus deactivate the cameras, etcetera, allowing Minghao to enter from Joshua’s bedroom balcony on the second floor. It has a large willow overhanging and will provide enough coverage.” He paused, looking at Minghao for corrections.

Minghao grabbed a piece of blank paper from Seungcheol’s desk and a pen. “Seungkwan, where exactly is the painting from your brother’s bedroom?”

Seungkwan bit his lip, taking the paper and pen. “If you turn left and make your way down the hall to the main balcony, overlooking the gallery, its all open and it’s technically right below the center of it, but you can’t see it from above.” He paused, trying to clarify his sketch. “You have to go down the stairs, they’re on either side, to get to the main floor. Then it’s dead center hanging on the wall, and the two doors to the library are on either side.”

“Can you, do it?” Seungcheol asked, giving a skeptical look at the drawing on the desk.

“Yeah,” Minghao shrugged. “I mean, probably.”

“So, while Seungkwan and Hansol are distracting mommy and daddy, and the security is down, Minghao will retrieve the painting.” Jeonghan looked around the room for approval.

Seungkwan cleared his throat. “No offence, Minghao, but I don’t think you’ll be able to move the painting by yourself. I already said this, but it’s huge.”

“I’ll work something out,” Minghao gave another confident shrug, dismissing the worry. “I’ve learned some tricks over the years, don’t you worry your pretty red little head about it.”

Hansol took a step towards Seungkwan, setting a hand on his shoulder. “He’s just trying to help. He knows better than any of us.”

“Well, except for maybe Jeonghan,” Seungkwan began, looking up at him.

“Enough.” Jihoon cut them off. “Why am I here? I don’t understand my part in any of this?”

Seungcheol sighed, shooting Jeonghan a doubtful glance. Clearly, he questioned Jihoon’s place as well. “It’s always good to have you set up nearby when we’re doing things like this, you know that. It provides an extra sense of security, in case things go wrong.”

Seungkwan’s brows furrowed together, and he looked at Hansol confused. He didn’t know any better, Hansol realized. He just thought Jihoon was another regular member of the Roses. He saw a small, if anything, grumpy guy – not an assassin.

“Waste of my time, waste of my talent.” Jihoon retorted, getting up and heading for the door.

“You sound like Wonwoo,” Jeonghan waved a hand dismissively. “And look how wonderfully that turning out for him.”

Hansol quirked an eyebrow, not understanding the statement, but didn't question it. He got up and followed Jihoon’s lead, heading for the door with Seungkwan in tow.

Seungcheol stood. “We’ll regroup tomorrow and go over more details. We strike the night after.”

“See you,” Hansol replied. He needed some air. He waved a hand at Seungkwan, "come on."

He went past the reception, down the hall to the far end. Hansol pushed open the door.

“Where are we going?” Seungkwan asked, following him into the stairwell and up. “Aren’t we on the top floor?”

“Kwan,” Hansol smiled, opening the door. “You can always go higher.”

The roof was a favourite spot of Hansol’s. It held an amazing view of the city, and he liked to sit at the edge and look out. It was dangerous, but he knew his limits. It was like being a part of the White Rose Company.

“What are you doing?” Seungkwan gasped as Hansol flung his legs over the steep side of the building. “Are you crazy?”

Hansol laughed. “Come. Sit with me.”

Seungkwan looked down the side, then took a big step back. “Fine. But don’t let me fall.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Hansol took Seungkwan’s hand as he sat down next to him. “I do this all the time.”

They sat together in silence, taking in the view for a while. It was the longest he had seen Seungkwan go without talking, and it made him look over at the other boy.

“Are you scared?” Hansol asked, softly.

“Of falling?”

Hansol felt his heart skip a beat. He blamed it on the altitude. “No, the breaking the law thing.”

“Oh,” Seungkwan shrugged. “Not really, surprisingly. Are you scared?”

“Of falling?”

Seungkwan let out a laugh, nudging his shoulder. It was a sight, Seungkwan laughing. It was too much, loud and unfiltered. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world like he was always meant to be doing it.

Hansol just looked down at their still intertwined hands resting on the edge of the building and took a deep breath. “Of course, I’m scared of falling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya bully me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/checkinsbitch/) i finally made a kpop account to pressure myself into writing lol
> 
> dont forget to comment and all that jazz ~~


	7. Mingyu - Rain to Grow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: doesn't update for months  
> me: updates twice within the span of two days
> 
> dont look at the time frame for this too closely, it happens later but i wanted meanie content sooner lol, so consider this like a week after seungkwan is kidnapped

 

 

 

The tattooed boy was following him.

Mingyu had spotted him leaning against a lamppost outside his building from the lobby. This wasn’t the first time Mingyu had seen him since the night Seungkwan was taken.

Mingyu had spotted him sitting at a café where he routinely grabbed lunch. It had stopped him in his tracks, seeing the boy who had knocked him out, then kidnapped his fucking best friend just casually reading and drinking a cup of coffee. It was him though, without a doubt. Black hair, narrow face, ring of metal through his lip and a tattoo of a raven with its wings spread, clutching a bleeding anatomically correct heart on his throat. Mingyu couldn’t forget him if he had tried.

It began to rain, and Mingyu opened his umbrella as he made his way out onto the street. The city hummed around him, but all Mingyu could hear was the thumping of his own heartbeat. He glanced at his reflection in the shop windows and saw the boy was trailing him, but keeping a safe distance.

He had been going to meet another girl, this time a large investor’s daughter. His parents always made him go on pointless dates, with girls they had preapproved for a smart marriage match for the company and the family. Mingyu had as little to do with both as he could. He went to school, to charity social events, and on the goddamn dates, but he wouldn’t do anything more. He definitely wouldn’t marry any of these girls just to make his parent’s happy.

He walked two blocks, the rain falling on them before Mingyu stopped to cross the street. He didn’t want to play games anymore. He wasn’t scared, not really, Seungkwan would call him stupid for it. He just wanted to understand.

As he waited for the crosswalk light to change he noticed how close the other boy was, and how wet he had become from their short walk.

“Here,” Mingyu said, taking a step closer, and covering him with his umbrella. His dark hair was plastered to his skin, and the round glasses he wore were spotted with raindrops. He looked down at the dark wet pavement, avoiding Mingyu’s gaze. He looked different like this. The shyness almost allowed Mingyu to go as far as to associate innocence with the pretty elegant features turned away from him. He knew better though.

The crosswalk light lit up. People pushed their way forward, and Mingyu grabbed the boy’s arm gently, leading him across and keeping him under the umbrella.

When they reached the other side, everyone else kept moving, busy to get on with their day, but the two boys stopped. The rain continued to fall, a steady hum around them, filling the silence. Mingyu looked at his hand on the other’s arm and wondered what would happen if he let go. Would the tattooed boy bolt? Attack him again? Or would he stay and wait for Mingyu to say something more?

“Seungkwan called me,” Mingyu offered eventually, unsure of what he was doing. He wasn’t angry, just confused. He knew what he was doing was irrational, it made no sense to even him. He should be running, he should be calling for help, not trying to talk to a boy who had knocked him out the last time he had seen him.

The boy turned and looked at Mingyu properly for the first time. It made his heart skip a beat for some reason. Maybe from the atmosphere created by the rain around them, or the way those curved dark eyes looked at him so hopefully behind the droplet covered glasses. It didn’t matter, Mingyu didn’t care, not really. He didn’t know what he wanted, but there was promise in those eyes and he’d always been a sucker for pretty boys with glasses – even ones he knew to leave bruises. Another thing Seungkwan would shake his head at and tease him, always accusing Mingyu of seeing only what he wanted to, even when he knew better.

Mingyu cleared his throat, suddenly bashful under the other’s gaze. “He’s fine. Well, as fine as someone who was kidnapped and is now working with a gang can be. Seungkwan’s always been quick to adapt though, that’s how he always has friends around him, he can make almost anyone laugh and feel good about themselves. It’s because he isn’t afraid to make himself the butt of the joke. That’s important in a person, you know?”

The tattooed boy looked up at him amused, allowing a flicker of a smile before retreating back into his stone-like demeanour. “I suppose.” He said with a low voice, licking his lips and making Mingyu feel like suddenly the space underneath one umbrella for two grown men was very small.

He didn’t let go of the boy’s arm. Instead he led them forward again, this time in the direction of the café halfway down the block. “He’s smart too, Seungkwan.” Mingyu said, finally glad of being able to talk about the whole ordeal with someone, even if he’s a criminal and played a leading role in the initial problem. “So, there’s no need to really worry, I know I’m not.” He paused and allowed a half-hearted smile. “I’m trying not to anyway.”

When Mingyu stopped in front of the café and opened the door for the boy, he looked at him with skeptical eyes. It was the café that Mingyu had spotted him at, and he wondered for the first time if the boy was there for him, or of his own volition. Maybe it had all just been chance. A lot of people like coffee, though this café is a bit more off-grid, the possibility they happen to both like. It seemed like unlikely.

“Come on,” Mingyu said, nudging him forward. “You owe me, remember?” He gestured to the fading bruise on his chin.

The boy had the grace to blush, the flush of colour on his cheeks softening his hard features.

They sat down a table in front of the window, looking out onto the rain coloured street. He ordered a coffee and the other boy asked for tea.

“I’m assuming you know my name,” Mingyu said taking off his wet coat and hanging it off the back of his chair. “But I don’t know yours, and that’s rather unfair.”

“Wonwoo,” the other boy said, from the other side of the table. Wonwoo had his glasses between the fabric of his shirt, rubbing them dry. Mingyu smiled to himself at the sight. Choosing to dry the glasses before fixing the rain-drenched hair – the opposite order he would have done things. “And I’m sorry about that,” he pointed at Mingyu’s bruised chin. “it wasn’t anything personal. Just business.”

Mingyu raised an eyebrow at Wonwoo as he returned his glasses to his face. “Do you work for the White Roses then?” He wouldn’t have a hard time believing it. Despite the glasses and soft eyes, Wonwoo was still heavily tattooed and looked rather dangerous. Hell, he _was_ dangerous according to the bruise Mingyu was still wearing.

“No,” Wonwoo said, finally running a long slender hand through his hair an attempt to fix it. Mingyu tried not to linger too long on the action, glancing outside the window where the rain fell instead. “Well, yes. Kinda. I’m affiliated with them. If I were forced to choose my alliance I would say the WRC, yeah.” He rolled up the sleeve of his sweater and pointed to the tattoo of a white rose on the inside of his right wrist. “I do my own work mostly. I don’t work with them on much of a regular basis, but it’s good to have people to call your own when you're in my line of business.”

“Which is what? Exactly?” Mingyu asked.

“Private investigation.”

“Which includes kidnapping?”

Wonwoo raised his brows and gave a small smile, one that raised the hair on Mingyu's arms. “Includes whatever you want, for the right price.”

They locked eyes and Mingyu suddenly wondered what had compelled him to have coffee with a dangerous criminal.

"Why were you following me?” He asked after a few beats. “Wasn’t your job just to take Seungkwan? The Roses don’t want me, they wanted Seungkwan and they got him, and that’s all okay now, I guess. But, why are you still watching me?”

Wonwoo looked down at his hands on the table between them. They were long and slender, pretty too. The challenging and dangerous gaze had been replaced by something almost like embarrassment.

“I don’t know.” He admitted after a pregnant pause. “I see a lot of people in my work, I watch a lot of people,” Wonwoo looked up at him, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “but you’re the first person among the hundreds I’ve thought had something more to them,” the blush from earlier warmed his sharp cheeks again. “you’re the first who just, I don’t know, showed some depth or something that made me just,” Wonwoo stopped again, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the black and red ink covering his throat. “Intrigued.”

Mingyu hadn’t been expecting that. “Oh.”

He had thought there was some malicious intent, that he was next on the hit list for some big ransom or something of that sort. He took a sip of his forgotten coffee. Did he think that though, really? If he had truly felt threatened, he would have called in security from his father. His parents were absurdly wealthy, but new money, his father having made his own fortune and found a model wife of humble origins to seal the deal.

“It’s not like you’re no one, Mingyu,” his mother had argued when he had dismissed the idea of a personal guard. “you’re someone in this world whether you like it or not. You have value, you have a responsibility in just being who you are. It’s reckless to go about as if you’re in the same position as everyone else.”

His parents put too much value on money making you important. Still, Mingyu went about without any security and was fine. Up until now. Wonwoo had been watching him, but for how long? Maybe he did need better security, he mused.

“Are you really?” Mingyu asked, a smile creeping its way across his face.

“Am I really what?”

“Intrigued?”

Wonwoo blushed for the third time that day, hiding behind his cup of tea. Mingyu decided he liked making Wonwoo blush. It made him feel oddly powerful, to emit such as a response from such a dangerous boy.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Mingyu replied, leaning back in his chair, looking at Wonwoo with a little smile. “because so am I.”

 


	8. Seungkwan - Between the Stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't die  
> i have a lot written tho and i will post lots between now and new years promise lol  
> happy holidays

 

 

 

 

"Shopping is fun," Seungkwan reasoned, hopping off the motorcycle. His heart was still racing from the ride. He loved it, he had decided. He had sported a wide grin and held a death grip on Hansol’s leather jacket as they wove through the congested city traffic. He also liked how close it made Hansol, the contact that wouldn't have otherwise been excused. "And I don't care if you think otherwise, we need real food in the apartment."

"I don't think we do," Hansol responded, taking Seungkwan's helmet and putting it under the lid. "The restaurant has good food."

"Hansol, how have you not died yet?"

Seungkwan was honestly in shock, considering the type of lifestyle the other boy lived. Both dangerous, and pushing the limits in almost every sense. At least, that’s what he had gathered from listening to Seokmin, the boy with the sharp nose and wide grin who had befriended him after the meeting. It was odd because Seokmin had been so rough with him only the day before.

But Seungkwan was learning to just accept things as they came. Hansol had seemed so hot and dangerous across from him in the basement, and he turned out to be fine. Fine being almost suspiciously chill. Hansol just smiled and shrugged, and he couldn’t tell if it was because he just naturally laid back, stoned, or just unsure of what to make of Seungkwan. Probably a combination.

Hansol flashed a cheeky smile. His dark eyes shone, catching all the connotations. "Good luck?"

Seungkwan shook his head, then reached to try to fix his hair. That was the only part about the motorcycle he didn't like - the consequences on his hair from the helmet. Hansol never had trouble, just shaking his mop of brown hair and running a hand through it.

"Come on, we just need the basics."

They had been arguing over going grocery shopping all morning after the meeting. Hansol had taken care of some WRC business, things he wouldn't be able to fully tend to because of his new duty - watching Jeonghan's secret weapon. After, Seungkwan had suggested they go shopping, and the bickering began. Seungkwan didn't think he was asking for much, he wanted real food. He didn't know how Hansol got away with eating so much crap and stay thin.

It didn't take long, partly due to the fact neither of them was familiar with the act of grocery shopping. They quickly filled their basket with rice, noodles, kimchi, and various vegetables.

The ride home was not something Seungkwan had considered.

"So, how do you want to do this?" Hansol asked him as they stood in front of his motorcycle with three cloth bags full of groceries. "I can fit one bag up front here, and we can maybe squish one under the seat."

"I guess I'll hold the other one," Seungkwan sighed, putting the helmet on.

“Okay, hold on though, you don’t want to fall off.”

“That’s cute,” Seungkwan smiled teasingly, “concerned about me and all that. Don’t worry, I’m a big boy.”

“Only thing I’m concerned about is Jeonghan kicking my ass if anything happened to you,” Hansol scoffed, though his cheeks had a rosy tinge to them. “Or should I say, who he would have beat my ass.”

“Shut up,” Seungkwan laughed, getting on behind him. “Or I’ll kick your flat-ass.”

The motorcycle roared to life, and they took off down the street, a smug smile on Seungkwan's face.

When they got to Hansol’s apartment they began to put away the groceries and cook supper. Seungkwan couldn't help but watch Hansol as he moved around the kitchen, his leather jacket shed leaving him in another plain black tee. His pale skin was inked widely, and it seemed to Seungkwan every time he looked he saw something new. Hansol worked in a sort of lazy but controlled way, like everything he did was effortless but with purpose.

Seungkwan took out his phone and set it on the counter, it immediately vibrating loudly against the hard surface. He grabbed it again, putting it on do not disturb with a sigh, before tossing it back and going to help.

"Who keeps texting you?" Hansol asked, tossing him a curious look over the open refrigerator door. “You seemed to be looking at it more than the vegetables when we were shopping.”

"Mingyu," Seungkwan told him. He was almost irritated at the constant buzz but understood his friend’s worry. Mingyu hadn't stopped texting since Seungkwan had sent a short text letting him know where he was. He seemed okay, but wouldn’t stop asking questions and wondering about his well-being.

"Your friend?"

Seungkwan hummed, taking out a cutting board that he was surprised Hansol even owned, and started cutting up some green onions. "Yeah, it's getting annoying though. He's lucky I love him."

Hansol paused. "You love him?"

"Everyone loves Mingyu, it's hard not to." He said with a sigh. It was true. Their whole lives it had been Mingyu drawing people in with nothing besides his looks, Seungkwan watching beside him. "He's one of those impossibly good-looking people. It's a good thing he's such a fucking loser, otherwise, it would be completely unfair."

He laughed to himself, scooping some kimchi into a pan Hansol had set out. He had come to accept that Mingyu was handsome, but he was such a clueless dork, always making Seungkwan laugh, and that it balanced out. No one really fell in love with Mingyu for his looks, they did it for the lame jokes and the impossibly good drunken ramyun.

 “What about you?” He asked, adding red pepper paste, leftover rice, and the rest of the ingredients to the pan. "Who's your best friend?"

"Seungcheol, I guess," Hansol said, leaning against the counter. The muscles in his forearms flexed under the lines of black ink.

"You guess?"

"I don't know, he's the one I trust the most. I owe him a lot." Hansol said with a shrug. "He's the closest thing I have to family. All the Roses are."

Seungkwan felt something tighten in his chest. "What about your real family?"

Hansol licked his lips. "My mom and sister passed away, and I don't talk to my dad."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked." He apologized quickly, looking back down at the pan he was stirring. Seungkwan felt embarrassed for what he had said about his own family with Jeonghan. He had bashed them and was actively working to steal from them, and Hansol didn't even have a family. No, they weren't blood, but they were still his family. He hadn’t wanted to come off as some ungrateful rich brat, but now Seungkwan realized that’s exactly what he must appear to be.

Hansol offered him a small smile. "Nah, it's okay. Shits in the past."

“What’s in the present then?”

“You,” Hansol said instantly.

Seungkwan raised an eyebrow at him and Hansol laughed nervously. This time, he was _sure_ Hansol was blushing. It was a funny sight, this boy carved from marble who looked so dangerous, blushing over a slip of the tongue. Seungkwan was beginning to think that he too was like Mingyu, not quite what he seemed. A lot softer, maybe.

“I mean, this heist Jeonghan wants us to do. Steal from your family, and have you here with me. That’s what we have to focus on, for now, right?”

“I guess so,” Seungkwan agreed, filling his bowl, then taking a bite. “Not bad.” He commented, mildly impressed with himself.

Hansol grabbed a bowl and tried it. “Pretty good.”

“It’s the only thing I know how to cook,” Seungkwan confessed with a sheepish smile. “At home, we have a chef and the rest of the time Mingyu cooks. He would laugh at my sad attempt.”

Hansol didn’t say anything, just nodded, and kept eating.

After they had eaten and Seungkwan insisted they try to clean up, but that it didn't last too long. They lay lounged on the couch together, in comfortable silence. Exhausted. The whole thing was almost domestic Seungkwan realized in a passing thought. The shopping, cooking, and even sitting next to each other on their phones. Just simple things that they were doing together, so easily, despite being almost strangers.

Hansol's phone rang, and Seungkwan watched his dark brows furrow at the screen. He went into the bedroom to answer it, rushing into the room a minute later.

“Shit,” Hansol muttered, reaching for his jacket of the back on the couch. “I have to go. Will you be alright by yourself?”

Seungkwan scrunched his nose. “Where are you going?”

“Seungcheol called and there’s a delivery down at the foreigner’s cemetery.”

“What?” Seungkwan struggled to get up from where he had been sitting on the worn-out couch. “What do you mean? Oh god,” He paused putting a hand to his temple. He thought he could handle working with a gang, he really did. He didn’t think that in such a short amount of time he’d be subjected to this level of illegal and wrongdoings. “Don’t tell me you guys just dump dead-”

“No!” Hansol shook his head, slipping on his boots. “It's on the river, and surprisingly unguarded at night. A good place for deals.”

“No dead bodies?”

Hansol sighed. “No dead bodies." He looked up at him, considering it for a moment. "I don’t think.”

Seungkwan grabbed his own jacket and put it on. “I’m coming too.”

“No,” Hansol said plainly, crossing his arms. “This isn’t a fun game you’re just playing until Jeonghan gets what he wants. You’re staying here.”

“I won’t.” He responded, reaching for the door. As much as Seungkwan disapproved and was slightly terrified of the whole gang thing, he was curious. He wanted to see Hansol take on that initial role he had seen while bound in the basement again. “If you leave me here I won’t stay. I’ll run away. Then Jeonghan will be back to square one and it’ll be all your fault.”

“Fine.”

“Really?” Seungkwan beamed. He had been expecting a fight. “That easy?”

“I’m going to be late. Just keep your mouth shut and stay out of the way.”

Riding through the city on the back of a motorcycle was much different than doing it during the daylight Seungkwan discovered. One, it was colder.

He held onto Hansol a bit tighter, breathing in his rich earthy scent, but Seungkwan's focus was around them. Seoul came alive at night, this was something he had known, but he had never seen it like this. The lights illuminated the streets, the colours blending into a blur as they raced by. Seungkwan thought it was beautiful, the mess of it all, coming together perfectly.

When they got to the cemetery, Hansol parked his bike and they began the descent down towards the river. They followed the stone steps down, the rows upon rows of gravestones around them. Seungkwan’s heart pounded in his chest, and he suddenly felt very foolish for insisting on coming along. It probably wasn’t that hard to hide a body in a cemetery. Or dump in the river.

“They’re over there,” Hansol told him, pointing his chin towards two dark figures Seungkwan hadn’t noticed further down. “Remember to keep quiet and it’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” He said softly, voice raw with anticipation.

He stayed close to Hansol and wondered if he was armed. Probably, it seemed likely, Seungkwan reasoned. He had flaunted that knife with an unspoken threat in the basement. Seungkwan remembered reading somewhere that guns were for business, but knives were personal. He wondered if that were true, but wasn't about to ask.

They approached the other two figures in silence. One was a young man in his early twenties, about their height, with a shock of pink hair and small laughing eyes. The other was older, more serious and nondescript looking.

“White rose?” The younger man asked, eyes locking on him, searching.

Hansol raised his right hand to show the tattoo all the members had.

Seungkwan had been surprised when he had first seen it. It was pretty, more soft, almost feminine and much more elegant than he would have imagined a gang’s symbol being. He didn’t know much about organized crime, but it seemed to him that the White Rose Company wasn’t an ordinary gang, in more ways than one.

“What about him?” The man asked, gesturing to Seungkwan. His stomach tightened, and he looked to Hansol. "I don't know him."

“He’s new. Still testing the waters before going under the gun.” He replied coolly.

The other man considered this for a second, sharp eyes assessing Seungkwan. He felt hot and like a fraud, but tried to keep his face neutral, returning a just as pointed look at him.

“Fine.” He said after a moment, reaching into his jacket pocket, and retrieving a small parcel. “Tell Jeonghan this is the first half. He knows the deal.”

Hansol took the package and they both nodded.

“A pleasure doing business with you little flower,” The man offered with a smile that seemed so unfitting for the situation. It made Seungkwan raise an eyebrow, forgetting himself. He noticed and chuckled softly. “Good luck to you, too. Careful of the friends you make.”

They left after that. The walk back to the road and the ride back to the apartment was silent, Seungkwan’s mind whirling. It hadn’t been what he expected. It was quicker and simpler, but somehow the unsaid threats and looming danger hadn’t put a damper on the transaction. Hansol had been cool and smooth. Controlled but casual. The other boy with the pink hair had been the same, but he had an earnest smile to him. Seungkwan kept forgetting that all these criminals were just people too.

When they climbed into bed later that night, it was less awkward than the previous night. Seungkwan finally managed to work up the courage to ask what he had wanted since they had left the riverside.

“What’s in the package?”

He couldn’t see Hansol well in the dark, the only light being the soft glow of the city outside the window. All he could make out of was the smooth curves of his face, the fluttering of lashes. Seungkwan could feel him though.

“Money probably.”

“For what?”

Hansol yawned. “I don’t know. It’s not my place to ask. I just do what I'm told.”

“Why?” Seungkwan asked. It had been the ever-looming question in his mind since he had met Hansol.  “Why do you do any of it? How can you not ask questions about what you’re doing, and consider the consequences, or at least know the motivation behind any of it?”

There was a pregnant pause, and Seungkwan wondered if he had gone too far. He knew he wasn’t in the position to be questioning the inner-workings, and the culture itself of organized crime, or the motivations of career criminals. But now that he had met some of them, had humanized them, he wanted to know. He wanted to understand. It had to be more than the money.

“Because what I give, the work I do is returned with something I wouldn’t find anywhere else,” Hansol said softly. “The protection, the comradery, a place to belong. A purpose. I told you the White Roses are like my family and it’s true. We all look out for each other. We all fight for each other would die for each other. Tell me where else I could find something so solid and unwavering.”

Seungkwan found, that for once in his life, he didn’t have a response. He considered what little he knew about Hansol, a boy who had no family finding himself a place who accepted him with no questions asked.

“It must be nice.”

Hansol rolled over to face him, his breath warm on Seungkwan’s face. “It is.”


	9. Jeonghan - Watch for Thorns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this and the next couple chapters are shorter but that's just bc i wanted to switch povs lots lol let me live

 

 

 

 

 

 

The meeting confirming the details of the mission went well. Jeonghan was more pleased than he cared to admit. He had watched Seungkwan's pursed lips listening to the plan, correcting the details until perfect. It had been a smart move, bringing him in. It wasn't a hard thing to do now, just distract and take a painting. Simple.

He wandered into the living room of his and Seungcheol's shared apartment, his feet sinking into the rich rug. He breathed in the fragrant scent of the vase of roses on the glass table, never tiring of it. The city lights danced outside the window, hiding the stars, but Jeonghan didn’t mind. From up this high, it felt like it was _he_ was who was among the stars. Not bad for a boy who'd started with nothing.

He wore a satiated smile. After tomorrow Fallen Angel would be his, and he could do what he liked with it. And of course, Jeonghan had _plans_.

He looked at Seungcheol and Chan together in the kitchen, attempting to make a meal. Something neither of them necessarily had extensive knowledge in, but Jeonghan insisted they try on a regular basis. It was good for them both.

"How are things coming along, baby?"

"Fine," They both answered, quickly turning to look at each other with red faces.

Jeonghan laughed, a bit too loud like always. He had never managed that polite politician's or businessman's charming laugh, despite mastering everything else. He had never learned to do it in halves. It was an honest laugh, and no one was in the position to challenge his too loud too reactions now.

"Is Cheol trying to steal your spot?" He teased, sitting down on the bar stool parallel to where they were working. "Don't worry Chan, it'll never happen."

Seungcheol gave him a pointed look from where he stood in front of the stove element, but Jeonghan waved it away. He always took care to spend time with Chan, inviting him for food or taking him shopping. Someone had to show him the benefits of the White Rose Company, whether it be eight million-won watches or racing the latest cars.

A glass of wine the colour of blood was set in front of him, and he smiled at Chan in thanks. That boy was a trouble and he loved him for it.

"What do you make of Seungkwan?" He asked them, after taking a sip, genuinely curious. They had both had enough time now to gather more than a first impression. He had found that Seungkwan had changed a great deal in the years since they had last seen each other, but at the core, he was the same.

"I like him," Chan said, then looked up at him with shining dark eyes. "I'm allowed to like him, right?"

"Of course, you are, baby." Jeonghan nodded. "What about you Cheol?"

Seungcheol turned from where he had been stirring the contents of the pan. "I think he's a bit like the rest of the boys you collect," His eyes flickered to Chan. "He's looking for a place to belong."

Jeonghan considered this for a moment. It was true he realized. He wondered if he had sought out Seungkwan subconsciously. He had been bitter about Joshua for long, had his little lost adopted brother at the top of the stairs hung in the back of his mind this whole time?

"What do you think about Hansol and Seungkwan?" He asked Chan. He was good at noticing details on paper, finding idiosyncrasies, that was his main job with them. But Jeonghan wanted to see how well he could read people in real time.

Chan considered this for a moment. "They like each other more than they should, for just meeting. Almost like they have some sort of understanding already. Chemistry." He offered. "I think Hansol feels the need to protect Seungkwan, beyond the duty you gave him."

"I think Seungkwan's just what Hansol needs," Seungcheol said, a small smirk on his face. "Sounds weird, but he needs something, _someone_ , to show him there's more in life."

“More than the White Rose Company?”

“More ways to find a home.”

Jeonghan nodded, pleased with their answers. He and Seungcheol typically held differing opinions on Hansol, but in this, his lover may be right. "We'll see how well they do tomorrow. Maybe they won't have to say goodbye so soon."

The next day, Jeonghan was ready.

He waited with Jihoon, who looked mildly annoyed with the whole predicament. He was in his typical attire, fitted black with an apathetic glare. They were watching from a conveniently placed hill about a kilometre away, a perfect view of the estate and road that went by it.

“Why am I here?” Jihoon asked as they watched Seungkwan lead Hansol and Chan to his front door. The boys had easily gotten past the gate, Seungkwan just rolling down the window of the car and waving. Everything was almost too easy.

Jeonghan glanced over at Jihoon perched behind the gun, pointed at the mansion the boys stood in front of. He looked dangerous, but he always did, no gun needed. There was something about the way he held himself, the expressions he wore that made the typical person steer clear of him. Jeonghan however, had never been a typical person.

“Chan told me you were seeing someone.”

Jihoon narrowed his eyes. “He’s wrong.”

Before he could respond, Seungkwan’s voice came through the radio, slightly fuzzed. “Should I knock?”

Hansol’s voice came in reply, and Jeonghan could imagine him shrugging. “I don’t know, it’s your house. Do you normally knock? Or ring the bell?”

“No, but I usually don’t go against my parent’s wishes and escape to the city without much explanation. I’m not sure of the proper protocol for returning. Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes, leaning forward towards the mic. “Just ring the bell Seungkwan. Minghao, you’re in position?”

“Yeah,” Minghao’s voice came through a moment later, “let’s do this.”

Jeonghan and Jihoon watched as the three boys disappeared into the door. He felt relaxed, more than he should have probably. With Seungkwan this was just a simple task, he didn’t know why he had delayed it for so long. Jeonghan supposed that he had always wanted to take Fallen Angel, to take back what he knew was his, but he had never had a real motivation until now.

“Who is it?” Jeonghan asked, after a moment returning to their conversation. He watched Jihoon, searching.

“No one.”

“I know after Soonyoung left it was hard, on everyone, not just you.” Jeonghan sighed. It had been a difficult thing, people didn’t easily leave groups like theirs. When you signed up for this type of ride, one with equal risks and benefits, it was usually for life. “As much as I love doing what I do, I’m not one to force others to do what they do not want to do. The fun in power is making people _want_ to do things, not forcing. And Soonyoung didn’t want to do this anymore, and I wasn’t going to force him.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’d just prefer it if people stuck to their promises instead of a knife in my back.” Jihoon muttered, refusing to look at Jeonghan.

“Me too.” Jeonghan sighed again, looking down at the stupidly extravagant home that he had spent many happy hours in with Josh. “But I guess that’s why we both carry guns now.”

“We have a problem,” Chan’s voice came through the speaker in a rush. “We need to get out.”


	10. Joshua - Gate Left Open

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Seungkwan.” Josh blurted, mildly shocked at the sight of his younger brother being behind the door. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” He responded, as impertinent as ever.

Over the years Josh had become well practiced in restraining himself from responding brashly to his brother. Instead, he sighed. “Then why did you ring the bell?”

“I have guests,” Seungkwan announced suddenly as if he had just remembered them. He gestured to the two boys who stood next to him. “This is Chan,” He said, looking at a teenage boy with shortly cropped dark hair and bright, youthful eyes.

Seungkwan glanced at the other boy. “And this is Hansol.”

Josh looked the other boy, Hansol, who seemed like a tiger among sheep. He wasn’t much taller than his brother, but their height seemed to be the only similarity. Hansol was well defined, Josh thought, in every sense. His face was made of strong and hard lines, and he had put metal through his brow and various parts of his ears. There was no question of the type of boy he was.

 Josh eyed him warily, wondering how the hell this boy had found his way into his baby-faced little brother’s life. He had his suspicions.

“Well, are you going to come inside?”

Seungkwan nodded, stepping inside, the other two boys following. “Where are mom and dad?” He asked.

“Out,” Josh responded, leading them into the front sitting room. He didn't quite trust any of the boys anywhere else. “Why? Have you come to apologize?”

Their parents had been livid when they found Seungkwan’s room empty, and no trace of him anywhere in the house. Before he could let it escalate, Josh had told them about Seungkwan’s and Mingyu’s weekly escapades.

Then when Seungkwan had called and said he wasn’t coming home soon, and there was nothing they could do about it, they had resigned to accepting their fate with a delinquent son. Josh didn’t think he quite deserved that label, but then again, he would never do half the things his brother did.

However, it had all seemed off. It was all very un-Seungkwan like. Sneaking out to drink and see his best friend Josh understood, running away like a thief in the middle of the night he didn’t.

He had been working on his latest painting when it had come to him. Seungkwan, god bless his soul, was simply too damn dramatic to go out like that. He would never miss such an opportunity for a performance, a final battle against their parents. Something was wrong.

Josh had gone into the small security office, unsure of what he was looking for. He needed to see if Seungkwan really had snuck out to see Mingyu. If not, Josh had lied to their parents - for better or for worse.

He found the recording from a few nights ago, holding his breath as he clicked the file. He watched the security footage, Seungkwan sneaking along the edge of the hedge to the gate, slip a few bills then head down the road. Typical, as much as Josh could expect.

“That’s Mingyu’s car,” Josh murmured to himself, spotting the red Benz waiting along the dark road from the viewpoint of the gate's camera.  But as he watched the footage, he quickly realized it was all wrong. With wide eyes he watched in horror as a thin dark-haired man approach then knock out Mingyu, shoving him into the car. Then, when Seungkwan approached unknowingly, he was drugged, put into the thin man’s car before it disappeared from sight.

Josh had been horrified. His brother had been kidnapped, and his parents hadn’t done anything because of _him_. But then, Josh realized Seungkwan had called. And he had seemed fine. There was no ransom call, no threats. Nothing. Just a determined sounding Seungkwan. It made no sense.

And now, his baby brother who had been knocked out and shoved into a car in the dark of the night was standing in front of him with a smile and two strange boys.

“Mom and dad aren’t here?” Seungkwan asked in disbelief. “Where are they?”

“Flying to Tokyo,” Josh responded, taking a seat. “They don’t just wait around for you to come crawling back with an apology, come on.” He teased, watching the trio of boys sit down sharing uncertain glances. “Why? Have you come to introduce your boyfriend? Which one is he? Is it Hansol? You’ve always had a thing for the bad boys. Is that the real reason behind your ongoing feud with that Chinese boy?”

The flush on Seungkwan’s face made him laugh, and every word worth it.

Josh waved a slender hand. “I’m teasing, come on. Do you guys want something to drink? Eat?”

“We’re fine,” Seungkwan replied icily. He paused, looking to the other boys with wide eyes. “We’re fine right? Everything is still…. okay?”

Chan, the younger boy nodded. “Yeah. Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.”

It wasn’t until after everything that Josh realized that Chan hadn’t asked where the bathroom was.

“So, Hansol.” Josh turned to the other boy, whose eyes were dancing around the room. “How does someone like you come to be in my dear brother’s company? It must be an interesting story.”

Hansol shifted in his seat. “We have mutual friends.”

“More like acquaintances,” Seungkwan said, something Josh couldn’t quite catch in his tone. The two boys shared a small smile, and Josh considered his first assessment. Maybe boyfriend wasn’t far off. It seemed odd though, that he wouldn’t have known about his brother’s love life, as he was so loud about everything else.

“You actually know him too,” Hansol offered. “Or you used to.”

Before Josh had a chance to comprehend what had been said, his attention was brought elsewhere. Somehow, Seungkwan and Hansol both froze, stiff in their seats. They looked at each other with wide eyes, and Seungkwan suddenly rose.

“Josh, why don’t we show Hansol Fallen Angel.” He said quickly, heading for the door. “That’s what got my brother famous you know Hansol, quite the masterpiece or something.”

Josh frowned, uncertain in his brother's sudden interest in his art. And everything else.  It all seemed so out of character for Seungkwan, who typically rolled his eyes at Josh's work. He had at first thought it was because of Jeonghan, that he _understood_ what the painting had meant. Josh had always held the deep suspicion that Seungkwan couldn't forgive him for following their parent’s orders, doing what he had been expected to do. They both knew that Josh would marry a girl, and leave Jeonghan and that part of him behind. It was something Seungkwan could never do, it was in his very nature to fight.

But Josh rose, silent, and followed his brother and the other boy down the hall towards the library. He was suspicious of this whole ordeal. From what Josh knew, Seungkwan had been kidnapped, and now here he was, with two strange boys in the house. Something was off.

“Where is it?” Seungkwan asked, voice thin with disbelief. He stood beneath the crystal chandelier, looking up at the bare wall that had been home to the painting for years. He turned to him with accusatory eyes. "Joshua, where is Fallen Angel?"

“It’s at the Old Hotel, to be part of the gala commemorating most influential pieces of the twenty-first century.” He answered, raising a brow. It made no sense, none of it. And now, he was asking about Fallen Angel. Josh didn't understand, but he didn't like any of it.

Hansol raised a hand and ran it through his hair. Josh glimpsed the colour he hadn’t seen there earlier.

 A rose. A white rose tattoo.


	11. Minghao - Night-blooming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every time i update this fic: hi its been months

 

 

“Get out now.” Jeonghan’s voice growled through the earpiece.

Minghao didn’t have to be told twice. He hadn’t even left Joshua’s room, had been silently waiting for Chan’s signal to go. It was quick work to retrace his silent steps across the shining floors and back to the balcony.

One quick leap and he was back on an overhanging tree branch. His gloved fingers wrapped around the branches as he climbed across to the other tree. From there he jumped, landing silently, listening to the harsh frantic voices in his earpiece and the static between.

The painting wasn’t here. It was being held in the city to be showcased at an art show or something equally pretentious.

He knew it wouldn’t be this easy. Minghao had come to trust Jeonghan and follow his orders, they were almost always full proof, but he had sensed this wasn’t going to work. Sending Seungkwan and Hansol in to distract, and Chan to take down the security measures let Minghao get in was a great plan. It was a simple enough plan compared to operations in the past. But they weren’t going to get _Fallen Angel_ today.

When Minghao finally made it to the edge of the property, he prayed the security cameras were still down as he dropped to the side of the fence and descended to the ground. A nondescript van pulled up, sending gravel flying. The door opened, revealing an annoyed looking Jeonghan. Minghao got in.

“Where are the others?” He asked, seeing only Jihoon how who was shifting gears and setting the vehicle into motion.

“They’re fine. We need to get out of there though.”

Minghao took off the beanie he’d been wearing and ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it. “What do you mean they’re fine? The painting wasn’t there, and Josh sounded pretty fucking skeptical of Seungkwan’s intentions if you ask me.”

“Hansol texted. He said it was fine, and Josh had left them to go back to his studio and do work, leaving Seungkwan to stay or go as he pleased. I don’t know why.”

“It’s fucking strange. I don’t trust any of it.” Jihoon commented from the driver’s seat, making a sharp turn onto the main road.

Minghao agreed. He had come to be suspicious of most things, playing on the safe side when he could. It came with part of the job. When you find ways into places you’re not supposed to be, its almost always better to trust your gut and get out sooner rather than later.

“I’ll never understand Josh,” Jeonghan murmured darkly, fingers dancing across his phone screen. Already working on a new plan Minghao guessed. “Says one thing and does another. Sees something, understands, but doesn’t act. It makes no sense.”

“He sounds like you,” Minghao said, the words slipping out without thinking.

Jeonghan sent him a sharp look.

The next day Minghao found himself in Seungcheol’s office alongside Chan. It was late in the day, and they had all managed to get back to headquarters safely. They had regrouped and gone over the information Seungkwan had already explained what he knew earlier.

The sun had set, and the city lights painted a colourful backdrop behind the desk at which Jeonghan sat. Seungcheol was nowhere in sight. Minghao remembered that he and Hansol were meeting a drug import from Shanghai tonight, which meant Jeonghan would surely not bother with a play of pretty words tonight.

“Find a way in,” Jeonghan told them. “Make note of the cameras, the guards, you know the drill.”

“And then what? Should I look for the painting?” Minghao asked. They’d failed once, a rare thing for the WRC, for Minghao, for _Jeonghan_. And this wasn’t just any old power or a money grab, this was personal.

It was weird, Minghao had thought that since he’d been introduced to the idea of stealing this famous painting. He knew so little about Jeonghan’s past, at least, past the Blooming Rose. No one really knew anything until the painting had been introduced, and a quick google search told them all more than Jeonghan ever had. But Minghao didn’t quite understand what Jeonghan had to gain from stealing a very famous painting of himself, it was sure to cause quite the stir. Was it just the relationship turning sour between him and Josh? Or was it something more? Regardless, Minghao thought it was just bizarre, going as far as to kidnapping Seungkwan and bringing him into the whole mess – even if he had turned to be all right. It seemed stupid to him though, clearly, Seungkwan was a temporary thing, fueled with a rebellious strike that was sure to burn out eventually. And then what?

“If you can.” Jeonghan waved a hand dismissively. The area beneath his eyes was dark behind his glasses, and his hair up in a messy bun. “We’re not stealing it from its storage place, we’re taking it at the exhibition. They’ll be so many people, more leads for the police. Even my powers of persuasion can only go so far.” He laughed dryly.

Chan nodded. “Understood.”

Jeonghan leaned against the desk, arms crossed. He looked tired and like the weight of the world sat on his very shoulders. “Stay safe boys.”

“We will,” Chan replied, offering a confident smile.

“Don’t worry, boss,” Minghao said, stretching his arms above his head. “This is what we’re made for.”

First, they went to the thirteenth floor. There they gathered the supplies they’d need. Minghao grabbed a bag and began to pick out the usual necessities. Grappling rope, a few knives that were easily secured and out of view, some smoke bombs, and a few other things that he’d doubt he’d need. It was always good to be prepared though. He also put on a pair of custom-made shoes Jeonghan had insisted he have. They were like a second skin almost, Minghao was able to move and curl his feet, latching onto things with the rubbery texture. They were silent and perfect for climbing.

“Here,” Chan said, handing him an earpiece. He had gathered the needed technological equipment for his end of the job.

“Thanks. Let’s go.”

 They headed to the ground level and took one of the many cars owned by the WRC that were at their disposal. Black, a newer model, tinted windows, nondescript. And fully jacked out with illegal tech, of course.

As Chan drove, Minghao changed in the backseat, all sense of modesty gone. They’d done this enough now that they almost had a routine, a set of procedures and rules to follow. He and Chan were alike in the way they were recruited by Jeonghan and were now allowed to use skills that otherwise have likely gone to waste. They did all sorts of things, gangs rarely require a single from you. But he and Chan were typically the pair sent to deal with surreptitious affairs.

The city lights were a blur outside as Minghao dressed and reequipped himself while Chan drove and gave him the details he’d need to know.

“It’s called the Old Hotel, but it’s only called that because of the site it’s built on.” Chan began, as Minghao pulled his t-shirt off. He reached inside his bag and took out an armband to which he put on, securing a needlepoint knife.

“The building itself was built in the early 2000s, the outside design ultramodern. The inside. however, is a somewhat homage to classical western style. Pillars, marble floors. It doesn’t matter. The main entrance is west facing. There’s one large back entrance used for bringing in large shipments, whether it be art or kitchen supplies. Your best bet is descending on the south side and looking for one of the top floor offices.”

Minghao nodded, filing all the information mentally as he put on his watch. It was also custom made by a security firm in the city, Seokmin always getting deals on the newest technology. Beyond the basics of GPS and radio communication, it did more things than Minghao would ever use. However, it had both scent and sound sensors, which did come in handy when any changes that signalled people he might not be able to detect when he was distracted doing the job.

He tugged a fitted back sweater over his head, and the took out his right earring. He quickly replaced it with what appeared to be a small gem stud. It wasn’t. Meant to dissolve in any liquid, scentless, tasteless, transparent, _poison_. It wasn’t from Jeonghan, it was from his days before the WRC. From a time when he couldn’t trust anyone but himself, had to learn to use his skills for bad too. He had stolen it from one of the odd women that travelled in the circus back in China. She had been short, with too many arms and unnerving pale eyes that had made the hair on Minghao’s arms stand. He didn’t know why he’d stolen it. On impulse, mad at his trainer who had given him another rough hard beating for not doing his mid-air summersaults tight enough. He had never gotten to use it, Jeonghan propositioning him that night. Minghao didn’t know if he would have used it, he didn’t know if he would’ve. But a year after escaping, after Jeonghan had saved him, he’d gone back. Slipped in the dead of the night, had his revenge.

He finished dressing and equipping himself before climbing into the front seat. He pulled down the sun visor and looked at his reflection in the mirror, taking out some lip balm and putting it on.

Chan parked a block away. “Don’t worry, I’ve already sent in a disruption to their security system. And from my understanding, the typical physical security is made of only two nightguards who make hourly patrols. They don’t expect anything. Here.” He handed Minghao a water bottle.

“Thanks.” He took a sip.

“So, the best bet is to get to the roof and scale down the south side and get in through one of the windows.”

“Alright. Got it.”

Chan sighed. “Be careful, yeah? I want this to go well, for Jeonghan’s sake. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

Minghao nodded. He understood. They both owed everything to Jeonghan. He’d cared for them when no one else would. He saw the value no one else had, he respected them and saw they were more than troublesome kids. And if they were troublesome kids, they were _his_ troublesome kids.

“Don’t worry. I got this.” Minghao said, putting on his gloves. He offered Chan a sly smile before slipping out of the car. “Seungcheol doesn’t call me a wraith for nothing.”

“You always give everything you have to offer, hey?”

The statement caught Minghao off guard. He looked at Chan. His friend, his partner in literal crime, his _family_. “I want to do my job well. It’s what I signed up for, and it’s the least I can do for Jeonghan. Besides, I’ve gone looking for trouble. Why not have it be for a cause that’ll make someone else happy?”

Chan grinned at him as he shut the door.

It was easy for him. But the rules of gravity had never quite applied to Minghao the way they did to everyone else. He found a fire escape ladder hanging from the side of a nearby building in an alleyway and began to climb. Once he reached the end of the ladder he took out what were essentially suction cups with spaces for his gloved hands to slip in. From there, it was an easy climb.

Once he reached the top of the building he reassessed. It was too far for even Minghao to jump. He took out the grappling hook and rope from his bag, and the surprisingly light folded metal bow. This was also custom made, something Jeonghan insisted Minghao need.

He assembled it quickly and shot across to the edge of the roof of the Old Hotel. It caught well, securing into what looked to be a low metal railing that wrapped around the roof through his binoculars. Perfect.

Minghao returned his bag to his back, ensuring everything was secure before shimmying across the rope. The wind blew in his face, strong at the elevation, but Minghao was strong, and his gloves and shoes were made for this.

Once across, on the Old Hotel, Minghao looked out at the city. Seoul really did come alive at night. This wasn’t his city though. He’d grown up north of here, China, but far from the megalopolises, it was famous for. He hadn’t found what he was looking for there - but may Seoul _could_ be his city. The White Roses had offered it to him on a silver platter.

It was a sheer drop off the south side of the building. Minghao didn’t have to go down far though, just enough to find a window to open. Chan had been right, there were offices and those had windows that Minghao was able to slip a knife in and pry open.

He only needed it wide enough for his slender frame to slip into the dark room.

Minghao did his work quick enough, face hidden, hands gloved, taking photos. The building was striking too, he hadn’t quite understood what Chan had meant but a homage to classical western style, but Minghao understood now. It looked like the inside of Olympus. It was opulence to scale that astounded even him, and he had intruded on some wealthy places before for Jeonghan. Nothing like this though.

He understood the building well enough, had ideas budding on how the heist would go. Jeonghan would get the painting, he’d get what Minghao assumed was a form of revenge on Josh. He didn’t ask Jeonghan to go into details, but Minghao wasn’t dumb. The two had history, that much was clear.

He moved silently back up the steps to the floor with offices, pressing himself against a wall when he heard one of the nightguards pass by below on the main level, humming to himself.

It was time to leave. He sent Chan a quick message saying as much, and the pictures he’d taken.

He slipped back into the dark office where he’d left the window propped open.

“Do you mind telling me who exactly you are, and what you are doing here?” A silky voice asked Minghao.

He spun around to see a handsome man in a dark suit lounging with his legs crossed in an armchair. His eyes were adjusted to the dark, and he could see the young man cocking an eyebrow at him, challenging him.

 Minghao thought quick, assessing the situation. There wasn’t room for a mistake. He didn’t make mistakes. The White Rose Company didn’t make mistakes, not since Jeonghan had looped his arm to Seungcheol’s.

“You don’t belong here.” He replied carefully in his native tongue. The man had an accent, not too much unlike his own. It allowed for a game of twofold meanings in Minghao’s words, something he wasn’t often equipped with here.

“Neither do you.” The man replied in the same language sounding somewhat surprised by the response. He stood up, taller than Minghao, broader, fuller. “Yet, here we both are. What are we to do?”

He could see the other man more clearly now, his face falling into the city light cast in from the window. He looked familiar to Minghao somehow, but he couldn’t quite place it. He was handsome, that was certain. Elegant features, strong brows, puffy curved lips. His hair was dark and long, pulled back in a knot, loose strands framing his face and strong jawline. He was lovely and looked lethal.

“Who do you work for?” Minghao asked after a moment.

The man laughed, a surprisingly airy sound. “No one. People work for me.”

Minghao considered this, assessing the stranger. He wasn’t as good at reading people as Jeonghan, or even Chan. But he had survived long enough to know when he was in danger, and when the WRC was in danger.

“What’s your name?”

The stranger laughed again. Then, slipping something richer and impossibly decadent into his words he looked Minghao in the eye. “Why would I tell you that?”

This was a game to him, like how everything was a game to Jeonghan. The longer he played the less safe it was.

In one swift motion Minghao a knife to the stranger’s throat and his arms pinned behind his back. “What’s your name?” He asked again, voice low, almost a whisper against the stranger’s ear. “What are you doing here?”

“Junhui.” The man breathed softly, sending chills down Minghao’s spine. “What’s yours? Is it as pretty as your face?”

That caught Minghao off guard. He had to get out, and soon.

“What are you doing here?” He hadn’t been trained for prying information from people, on how to instill fear or respect in them. Minghao had left that up to the others, he didn’t rely on words in a foreign land when he could use his other skills. Now though, language wasn’t a barrier.

“I’m making sure Jeonghan is keeping up his end of the deal,” Junhui replied, hot breath visible on the knife pressed against his skin, not hard enough to break flesh though. “And I see that he is. So, if you’d be so kind and to remove yourself and that knife, we can both go on our separate ways.”

Minghao did, taking a step back from Junhui like he was had been the one with the knife. He looked at him, confused. What did he mean by Jeonghan’s end of the deal? How did Junhui know he’d be here tonight?

Junhui smiled at him, eyes travelling the scope of Minghao’s body. “But unless you’d like to stay for a while? We can play with those knives in a much more fun way. _If_ that’s what you’re into.”

“I have to go,” Minghao said, stepping back towards the window. He could feel the cool breeze slipping in through the narrow crack he had left open and he shivered.

“You never did tell me your name,” Junhui commented, closing the distance between them again. Somehow Minghao felt like the prey this time, even though he’d been the one threatening, the one with the knife.

“Minghao.” He told him, looking him in the eye. He wouldn’t back down. He wasn’t weak. He didn’t know who Junhui was, or what his deal with Jeonghan was, but he wouldn’t leave without the last word.

He opened the window wide enough he could slip out, then turned back to face the other man.

“Goodbye, Junhui,” Minghao whispered. He cupped Junhui’s chin, knife still in hand. It pressed into Junhui's skin, drawing a singular drop of blood as Minghao kissed him. Then, he slipped back out the window, and into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont forget to comment/yell at me for not updating lol


	12. Seungcheol - Dirty Knees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone who's subscribed to this fic getting a notification: wait what is this again

 

“So, how does this work?” Seungkwan asked them from the backseat of the car. In the rear-view mirror, he fidgeted, hands playing with the cuff of the black jacket. Seungcheol knew for a fact the garment belonged to Hansol.

“We wait,” Seungcheol answered him, glancing at the time on the dashboard again.

The shipment should have been there by now, and Minghao too, was running late. Seungcheol wondered where the boy was. He knew Minghao had done a favour for Jeonghan earlier, but nothing beyond reasonable. In fact, he had once after too many glasses of wine said that B&Es were his favourite. Minghao, a perfectionist in everything he did, enjoyed the routine and yet challenge they posed. Something different every time, but same steps. Same process. And it was one he was fucking good at. Which is why Seungcheol was so confused where Minghao was, things should have gone smoothly. Unless, of course, _they hadn’t_.

In the passenger seat beside him, Hansol leaned his seat back and sighed. His eyes fluttered shut, his profile illuminated by the dock-lights beyond that ran along the harbourfront. “We do a lot of waiting. I told you it’d be boring Kwan.”

“Yeah, well, staying in your apartment by myself is more boring,” Seungkwan replied snarkily. “Besides, this kind of thing is exciting.”

“You just said it was boring.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“You implied it.”

Seungcheol groaned. Although he thought Seungkwan was something good for Hansol, it seemed that they had quickly reached the level of comfort to bicker. He hadn’t much time to talk to his friend about the situation when he did see Hansol, Seungkwan was always in tow. But Seungcheol could tell there was something there, and his friend who had always been one for the Roses, and nothing else, it was different. Seungcheol wanted to find out more. He wanted Hansol to be happy, but he was also cautious. To some extent, Seungkwan had an expiry date, was disposable.

The bickering continued, and Seungcheol found his own eyes fluttering shut. He was exhausted. He had spent the past few days in a whirlwind trying to deal with Jeonghan’s vicious determination after their failure to retrieve the painting.

Seungcheol glanced out the wind at the dark waterfront quickly. If he left his eye closed, he might fall asleep. It was late, he was tired. He had spent too many hours earlier to wrangle invitations to the damn art gala where Fallen Angel was to be showcased. It seemed that was Jeonghan’s new plan: steal it right in the public eye. More dangerous, but if successful would also mean more leads for the police. Less chance of it being linked back to them.

However, no one had told Seungcheol how damn hard it would be to get on the guestlist for such an event. It seemed nearly impossible for even _him_ to manage it, regardless of the price. People from across the world would be attending, famous artists, aficionados, celebrities, even royalty. But, he had gotten them in of course, eventually.

And it had just been another thing to add to his plate. No one ever prepared him for how _exhausting_ running a gang was. You oversaw so many different operations, dealt with illegal affairs so security and trust were top priorities meaning he could only delegate so much. He didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t trust his boys like family. He was forever grateful he could. _The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb_.

There was a soft thud, as something, a _person_ , dropped onto the hood of the car.

Seungkwan squeaked from the backseat in surprise.

“There’s the damn wraith,” Seungcheol muttered, unlocking the doors for Minghao to get in.

“Sorry, I’m late.” The boy said slipping inside the car. “I had company at the Old Hotel.”

Seungcheol glanced back at him in the mirror. Minghao was handsome in a sort of unconventional way, had grown into it over time. An interesting combination of features, feline eyes, big rounded nose, pointed ears.

“You handled it?”

Minghao hesitated for only a moment, but it was long enough to register for Seungcheol. He’d have to find out more later. Not when Seungkwan was in the car. Maybe Jeonghan could get the details.

“Yeah,” Minghao said. “Mission completed.”

“Good.”

His phone lit up then, and Seungcheol read the message. _Here_. Fucking finally.

He got out of the car with smooth grace, unsure of who may be watching, even at the dockyard at this time of night. He had learned to carry himself with a sort of practiced ease and confidence. He had to carry the name of the White Rose Company well. Demand respect, expect fear, earn faith and trust.

When they got to dockside the boat was already being unloaded, the movements of the workers from Shanghai cloaked in darkness. He had half a dozen WRC members at the warehouse ready to accept the shipment already. He was just there for show, to talk.

“Everything's in order?” He asked the man directing the unloading. He wore a dark ensemble, not too different from what Minghao himself wearing. An outfit that meant trouble, or at least, movement in the dead of the night that would prefer to go unseen.

The man, their Shanghai contact turned to him and nodded. “Yes. Yes, all good.”

“Get the details, you know the drill,” Seungcheol told Minghao. He thought information flowed best when it wasn’t barred by language. Less chance for mistakes, fewer excuses when there were.

“Is this it?” Seungkwan asked quietly after a moment, “this seems so proper. Besides the fact they’re bringing drugs in illegally in the dead of night.”

Hansol let out of soft laugh, and Seungcheol raised a brow. “What if I told you there was over two billion won worth of drugs in these crates, and we’ve broken more than a dozen laws bringing them here. Enough to have even you locked up for the rest of your life.” He paused, appreciating Seungkwan’s wide-eyed expression. “And what if I told you that all of my men are carrying weapons, and almost certainly all of the guys from Shanghai are too? If things turned sour it’d easily be a shoot out, bullets flying.”

“Okay,” Seungkwan chuckled nervously, watching the crates larger than him be carted by. “It seems dangerous now.”

It made Seungcheol think. “Are you carrying?” He asked.

“He’s not,” Hansol answered, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Is that wise?”

Hansol furrowed his brows. “I can take care of him.”

“Cute,” Seungcheol replied with a smirk, before turning back to the runner and bowing. “Let’s go.”

When he finally made his way to their shared apartment, Jeonghan had already been asleep for hours. Seungcheol was expecting no less, Jeonghan was prone to spend days sleeping or not leaving bed. If given a choice between world domination and never leaving bed, Seungcheol knew that Jeonghan would somehow manage to do both, and he loved him for it. And he knew Jeonghan needed rest after the initially failed mission. He hadn’t taken it well at all.

Seungcheol was tired, and he was frustrated and worried. He didn’t quite understand Jeonghan’s relentless lust to _steal_ the painting. It was of him, yes, but they had plenty of money now. But Jeonghan adamantly refused to allow the purchase of Fallen Angel. He refused to explain it.

Seungcheol was overworked. He knew he could have let Hansol handle the shipment tonight, but he still wasn’t quite sure of where Seungkwan stood with the Roses. Was he here to stay? A permanent fixture, or was he just here until the mess with Fallen Angel was sorted? He hoped for Hansol’s sake Jeonghan knew the creatures he was catching in his web.

He walked into the dark bedroom and shed his suit jacket, draping it across the back of a chair and heading for the balcony windows. He drew back the curtains, flooding the room with the soft city light, illuminating Jeonghan’s slender figure splayed out on his stomach in the bed, bareback on his display.

Seungcheol sighed at the sight. _Jeonghan_. If there was one thing he knew, it was that Jeonghan would make things better, would know the right words to say, he always did. There was something impossibly endearing about Jeonghan to him, and he could not explain it. The solace he found from the other man was not one that Seungcheol didn’t think he could find anywhere else.

 He sat down on the bed next to where Jeonghan slept, his hair in a loose braid on his back. It wasn’t a good braid, one Jeonghan had clearly tried to do and gotten frustrated with and left. It was Seungcheol’s job to braid his hair before bed, to keep it out of the way and easier to tame in the morning.

He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, the apartment quiet except for the sounds of Jeonghan’s soft breathing. Seungcheol smiled softly, dragging a finger gently across the smooth skin of Jeonghan’s back. The angel wings that covered the smooth skin in black ink seemed surreal in the dim light. He felt each ridge of his spine, hard beneath the softness of Jeonghan’s skin.

“Are you going to get in bed, Cheol?” Jeonghan murmured, voice muffled by the pillow.

Seungcheol’s fingers continued to draw circles across Jeonghan’s back for a few moments before he answered quietly. “I need you.”

Jeonghan shifted in the sheets, turning onto his back before managing to sit up and look at Seungcheol with searching tired eyes. The skin beneath them was dark and discoloured. “Are you okay?” Jeonghan asked, voice low and rough with sleep.

“I-” Seungcheol started, pausing as Jeonghan reached out and rested a shaky hand tenderly on his face. He wouldn’t lie, of all the things that they were, that they did, lying wasn’t one of them. At least not to each other, not like this. “I will be.”

“Okay,” Jeonghan replied, more firmly this time, reaching his other hand to cup Seungcheol’s face. “Everything will be okay, I promise. I love you.”

“I love you,” Seungcheol echoed, preening at Jeonghan’s touch. Soft but firm, tender but controlled.

Jeonghan leaned forward, pressing his lips to Seungcheol’s and he felt at home. It was familiar, but like everything Jeonghan did, he surprised you every time.        

Seungcheol gasped as he felt hands leave his face, one to curl around the back of his neck, the other to push him backwards onto the bed.

“What do you want, baby?” Jeonghan asked, the soft words hot against his skin as he slowly kissed along Seungcheol’s jaw.

“ _You_ ,” He whispered, as Jeonghan bit down on the sensitive flesh, pulling another gasp and the beginnings of a moan out of him. He never felt the weight of everything when they were like this, just the two of them, words soft. Seungcheol didn’t think he could do any of the things he did without Jeonghan beside him.

Jeonghan’s hot breath was against his ear a moment later, low, and thick. “Of course.”

In his still sleepy form, Jeonghan undid the buttons of Seungcheol’s shirt, pressing soft kissing to his torso.

Seungcheol watched as Jeonghan worked open the button of his trousers, fingers ghosting on the sensitive skin below his navel, shooting flames of want through him. He shivered.

Jeonghan with a practiced ease, took him out and gave a few tentative pumps. Then, he looked up at Seungcheol, sleepy eyes brighter now. His hair hung in his face, and there was sleep crusted in the corner of his left eye. He was still handsome though, almost impossibly so. _Angelic_ , but like an angel with a loaded gun. Jeonghan was the one in control, had the power. He always did.

Seungcheol let out a ragged moan as he felt the other’s chapped lips on him. Whatever he had done to deserve Jeonghan, Seungcheol didn’t know. But he would pay whatever the price was.

 


	13. Wonwoo - Naturalia Non Sunt Turpia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how's your latin? naturalia non sunt turpia = what is natural is not dirty

 

“This still feels wrong,” Wonwoo admitted, glancing back at Mingyu at the other end of the bookshelf. They’d been in the bookstore most of the afternoon, the other boy trailing after him like a lost puppy. Wonwoo didn’t feel too bad about it though, Mingyu had invited himself along after hearing his plans for the day. “Like we’re going to get caught any moment.”

“So, what?” Mingyu replied, coming closer. He was carrying the books Wonwoo had already picked out. Epic fantasy, history on the Mongols, a guide on which houseplants were allegedly supposed to purify the air. “Who says we’re not allowed to be friends?”

Wonwoo shrugged, turning his attention back to the bookshelf. He found it hard to look at Mingyu now that he was being looked _back_ at. “No one, I guess. It’s just a bit unconventional. You being you. Me being me.”

He didn’t need to elaborate; the message was clear enough. Mingyu was the heir to a millionaire, ran in the high society loop of elites. Wonwoo was not much more than a spy and a criminal. Despite their differences though, in the past two weeks, they had somehow become constants in each other’s lives. As much Wonwoo was intrigued, it appeared Mingyu was too. It was bizarre and made no sense to him, but he still couldn’t bring himself to push the other boy away. He enjoyed his company more than he ever liked watching him from afar. He still wasn’t sure what Mingyu saw in him though. He didn’t seem to mind Wonwoo’s rough edges, his too quiet tendencies, his tattoos, and unconventional work. In fact, he seemed to like Wonwoo more for it. It was baffling.

“Do you want to get something to eat after this?” The other boy asked, offering a wide smile. It was so genuine it almost hurt him like candy in a cavity. Too sweet, sweet enough that it hurt but he wanted more anyway. “My treat, of course.”

Wonwoo didn’t think he could have said no, even if he had wanted to.

“I still don’t know much about you,” Mingyu said later, seated across from Wonwoo, grilling meat. “I know how you like your coffee, and that you like to read and are a gamer. I know you’re allergic to seafood and like cats. I know you like lame jokes.”

“Seems like you know a lot,” Wonwoo countered, tilting his head slightly. It almost surprised him, how much attention Mingyu must have been paying. That was supposed to be _his_ job. Wonwoo grabbed a piece of cucumbers among the many side dishes provided and popped it in his mouth before grinning.

Mingyu huffed, something he did a surprising amount. It was rather childish and coming from a giant boy who looked like he belonged on a runway somewhere, Wonwoo somehow found it endearing. Cute, and fitting with the conclusion that Mingyu was nothing what he looked like. It was a contradiction he hadn’t tired of yet.

“Come on, I thought you wanted to be my friend. You gotta give me something more.”

“Like what?”

Mingyu considered this for a moment, his slightly crooked front tooth biting down on his lip. Wonwoo did his best to act unaffected, ignoring the pull in his stomach. Mingyu wanted to be _friends_ , regardless of whatever notions were turning in his mind.

“Who’s your best friend?”

“Soonyoung.” He replied without hesitation, stealing a piece of meat from the grill. He liked that Mingyu was younger than him, it had benefits. That largely being when they went to eat, which they had five times now, that Wonwoo could sit back and watch the other boy cook without it being too obvious or weird.

“What’s he like?”

Wonwoo couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face. “Ridiculous. Like, insanely funny and loud. We just get along easily, always have.” He paused, memories surging. “And no matter how much we argue about silly things, the feeling and friendship between us are always good.”

Mingyu nodded. “He sounds like a good best friend.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo agreed. “I mean, things have been a bit rough this past year. He had to go to China to escape it all, but we’re getting through it. That’s part of his charm, he’s so stubborn and determined. He could sail through any storm I’m sure.”

“What do you mean it’s been rough?”

He hesitated. “I’m probably not supposed to tell you this, but uh, he used to be a member of the White Rose Company.”

Mingyu looked up, brows furrowed. “Used to?”

Wonwoo nodded, choosing his words carefully. “Yeah, he left. Which is obviously a hard thing to do. Those boys, they’re like family you know? Jeonghan - he’s like the guy in charge - he kind of takes care of everyone in a sort of paternalistic sense? I know it sounds kind of weird, and if you met him I’m sure you’d call me crazy. He’s vicious and smart, I once heard him described as clever as the devil and twice as pretty.” Wonwoo paused to chuckle, remembering Seungcheol’s drunken declaration. It had been countered by Seokmin, who held the same opinion as Wonwoo. “He fights and is all those terrible things you imagine a gang leader being, but he also really truly cares for every one of us.”

Mingyu had stopped eating and was staring at him. “You seem to really like him.”

“I respect him,” Wonwoo replied, taking a drink. “I think he’s a better person than even he wants to believe.”

“So, Soonyoung leaving was hard because you’re all like family?” Mingyu asked.

Wonwoo sighed. He didn’t want to explain the whole story. It was too messy and complicated for someone who wasn’t a member of the WRC to understand. If you weren’t there, if you hadn’t experienced that kind of comradery, family, it didn’t make sense. “Yeah, that and because of his then boyfriend.”

“Did they break up?”

“It’s complicated,” Wonwoo said, done with the subject. Usually, it was Mingyu doing all the talking, yet here he was spilling his guts. He blamed the beer.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Mingyu likely processing all this new information.

“Seungkwan’s your best friend, right?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu responded. “He makes me laugh. And he’s really empathetic and sweet. Tolerates no bullshit.”

Wonwoo wondered how Seungkwan was doing. He’d been with the White Roses for over two weeks now. It would be quite the change, from his comfortable life of luxury to tossed right in with the sharks. From what Mingyu had mentioned over their time together though, it sounded like Seungkwan was smart and could handle himself. Wonwoo hoped so.

“You guys are still talking lots?”

“Yeah, every day,” Mingyu said, his feet bumping Wonwoo’s under the table. They both tried to ignore it, cheeks heating. “He can’t tell me like _details_ or whatever. Just keeps talking about the guy he’s staying with, Hansol?”

Wonwoo raised a brow, curious. “And what has Seungkwan been saying?” He couldn’t help it, it was in his very nature to want to learn, and his job had made prying details out of people a reflex.

Mingyu snorted. “A _lot._ I kind of think he has a crush, but I can’t quite tell because we’ve only been texting. He either has a crush or hates the dude’s guts.”

“Interesting,” Wonwoo commented, the two of them sharing a smile. “I’m not sure if Hansol likes boys, he’s never really shown too much interest in anyone permanent in the time I’ve known him. Things could get interesting.”

Mingyu ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in his seat. He stared across the table as if debating something. “What about you?” He asked eventually.

“What about me?”

“Do you like boys?” Mingyu asked softly as if embarrassed by the boldness of his question.

It took Wonwoo aback, fully surprised. If it wasn’t for the fact Mingyu couldn’t hold his gaze he may have thought that he was being mocked. It seemed an absurd question to be asked when he had already confessed to being intrigued by Mingyu himself.

“I like girls,” Wonwoo responded his voice even.

Mingyu’s dark puppy like eyes glanced up to meet his own. “Ah, okay.”

“Boys too.”

“ _Ah, okay,_ ” Mingyu repeated, nodding his head. It was a bit too eager, but like he was trying to cover up the differences in his reaction.

It made Wonwoo laugh. “Am I allowed to ask you? Since you asked me?”

“It doesn’t really matter what I like,” Mingyu replied tone souring. “My parents are of the opinion that since they have money, my marriage matters for some reason. And I doubt that they’d set me up with a man, regardless of my preferences.”

Wonwoo considered this for a moment. He knew enough about Mingyu’s parents to know he was telling the truth. He had in fact followed Mingyu on a few dates with girls back before they’d ever spoke. For professional reasons of course.

“So,” Wonwoo said eventually. “Boys.”

Mingyu nodded slowly at him for the other side of the table, his tawny cheeks growing an undeniably rosy colour. “Yeah, boys.”

This time when his foot bumped Wonwoo’s, he was sure it wasn’t an accident.

 


	14. Hansol - Ready to Bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit actually happens finally lol

 

Hansol laid in his bed. He had intended to try to sleep. Instead, he had spent the past two hours listening to Seungkwan and Seokmin laughing away in his living room. The two had somehow become quick friends, and the latter had taken to spending his evenings in Hansol’s apartment. Which was fine, really. It meant that he didn’t have to worry about Seungkwan constantly because another Rose was around. And it was good for Seungkwan to have a friend.

But, it did mean a sacrifice in silence. Hansol, despite everything that had gone on in the past year, was just grateful that Soonyoung wasn’t here to join them. He imagined that trio and doubted he could sleep with _them_ outside.

It had been weird, seeing Soonyoung that night in the Foreigner’s Cemetery. He had played it cool of course, not giving anything away to either Seungkwan or Soonyoung’s companion. But Hansol had thought that he had left the WRC because he didn’t want to be mixed up in all of this anymore, that Soonyoung had wanted to walk a straight line. No more crime. Doing illegal deals and dropping off money in the middle of the night didn’t seem like the life he had left them all for. He hadn’t told anyone yet, he would have to mention it to Seungcheol. Maybe he knew something Hansol didn’t.

He somehow did manage to fall asleep, despite the loud voices and boisterous laughter on the other side of the door. He woke sometime later to Seungkwan flopping back on the bed next to him. He knew the other boy had been apprehensive the first few nights sharing. He hadn’t thought about how rich kids probably never learned to share beds growing up like everyone else. But now it seemed fine. He had even woken one morning to Seungkwan’s arms wrapped around him, his warm body pressed to his back. He had let out a soft laugh and went back to sleep, neither of them speaking of it when they got up later.

“Hey,” Hansol grumbled, rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand. “did Seokmin leave?”

 “Yeah,” Seungkwan replied, turning to look at him. He was wearing Hansol’s sweater, hands tucked in the sleeves. He looked young, like the first night they’d met. Cute. “Did you sleep much?”

He rolled to his stomach, grabbing a pillow, and pulling it to his bare chest. “A bit.”

“That’s good.” Seungkwan hummed, kicking off his sweatpants. Hansol looked his soft legs, unmarred and unblemished. They looked so different from his own skinny pale ones he’d covered in ink.

Seungkwan tucked them beneath the blanket.

 _Too soon_ , Hansol thought absently. This was already getting to be routine for them. Things were somehow so easy between them, at least when Seungkwan wasn’t giving him a hard time. But they got along well, a nice balance. Hansol had quickly grown used to the other boy’s presence in his life. He liked not having an empty bed.

“Can I ask you something?” Seungkwan said a moment later. His hands played with the edge of the sheets as he spoke.

“Sure.”

Seungkwan turned to look at him. “What is Jeonghan’s deal exactly? Like, whenever I see him he seems ruthless and greedy. But then, sometimes you guys - the Roses I mean - talk about him, it’s like you’re talking about a whole different person?”

“What do you mean?” Hansol asked, but he was almost certain of what the other boy was asking.

“Seokmin really likes Jeonghan! He talks about him like they’re good friends and that Jeonghan is like, a sweet person? That he likes to take care of people. And he told me that Jeonghan had taken the set back in the painting retrieval really poorly, had locked himself up in his room for a few days.” Seungkwan paused, dark brown eyes meeting Hansol’s own. “I just have a hard time understanding how Jeonghan can be both?”

“You talk like people can only be one thing,” Hansol replied. “But we’re not. We’re multidimensional. Take Seokmin for example. He’s just a goofy kid, pure. A good heart and sensitive. But he’s also in a fucking gang.”

Seungkwan laughed softly. “I guess.”

“Jeonghan’s a bit vicious and manipulative, but he’s also really caring. I don’t think anyone gives him enough credit for that.” _Including me,_ Hansol realized once the words were out of his mouth. Hansol almost felt guilty, because he too, didn’t quite fully trust Jeonghan. There was still something about him that left Hansol just on the edge of suspicion.

“I guess,” Seungkwan repeated, reaching over, and turning off the light. “Jeonghan is really different from when I knew him.”

“What was he like then?” Hansol couldn’t help but ask. Everyone knew so little about Jeonghan’s past. He wasn’t sure if Seungcheol wouldn’t tell him, or if his friend just really didn’t know.

“I mean, he was still the same. Whenever we played board games or stuff like that he’d cheat or exploit it somehow.” Seungkwan laughed a bit more. “But he was quieter I guess? And he was really in love with my brother, it was pretty obvious.”

 _That_ , Hansol hadn’t known. But made sense in a way. The painting made more sense that way. Was this all a revenge scheme then? Is that what the Roses had been left to? A personal vendetta of Jeonghan’s to use?

“Did your brother love him back?”

“I’m sure he does.”

“He still loves him?” Hansol asked, surprised. “It’s been years.”

“Sometimes I find him staring at Fallen Angel, and once I even asked him about it. If he wished he could change things.”

“What did he say?”

“That Jeonghan wouldn’t have been good for his career.”

Hansol shook his head. It almost sounded like something he could imagine _Jeonghan_ saying. “Harsh.”

“Joshua just wants to make our parents happy,” Seungkwan said, letting out a yawn.

“And you don’t?” Hansol asked, reaching out and pushing the bangs off Seungkwan’s face so he could see him in the dim light. The touch warmed his fingertips like it always did. He spent so much time trying to ignore it. Sharing a bed made it bad enough, but the other boy seemed to just be a physical person. Always a hand finding its way to Hansol's arm or thigh, hitting his back when they laughed. It was driving him mad.

They locked tired eyes, and as Seungkwan’s flickered shut he said, “I want to make myself happy.”

The next day they sat in Seungcheol’s office again. It was becoming predictable, and he frankly couldn’t wait until this Fallen Angel business was over and done with. He didn’t see the benefit of stealing the damn painting, and after what Seungkwan had said last night, Hansol found himself doubting that this was more than Jeonghan using them all for his own weird personal revenge.

He looked at Seungcheol at his desk, taking a sip of his coffee. He was dressed in a suit like always, all clean and pressed lines. Expensive. Dangerous even, with his sleek dark undercut and tattoos peeking out from the collar and on his hands. He knew there was at least one handgun tucked beneath the jacket. Hansol still hasn’t had a chance to speak with his friend about Soonyoung, it would have to wait until they were alone.

“So, what’s the new plan?” Seungkwan asked, perched at the end of the chair next to him. He was wearing a pair of Hansol’s own black ripped jeans, and the fabric was tight against his thighs.

Hansol looked away from the other boy’s legs feeling flushed.

Jeonghan just gave an easy smile. It didn’t seem appropriate for the situation, given their ‘easy’ mission had quickly come to a halt a few days ago. He knew Jeonghan, despite the face he wore, had not taken it well. Seokmin had said as much.

“Well,” Jeonghan began. “I guess we’re going to the gala next Friday night.”

“Who is?” Hansol asked, raising a brow. There was the same handful of Roses in the room, and they were each, in turn, giving a doubtful look.

“We are,” Jeonghan repeated. “Well, actually. You and Seungkwan will be attending together, invited under Joshua’s name of course. And Cheol and I will be also attending as guests, due to our status as wealthy businessmen with a large influence here in Seoul. It seemed appropriate enough.”

Seungkwan leaned forward and set an elbow on the desk. “I’m going to be frank with you,” he said eyeing Jeonghan who stood behind Seungcheol. “I don’t have anything appropriate to wear. As you can likely tell, I’ve been donning the pickings of this one's oh-so-colourful closet.” He jerked his head towards Hansol in indication. “And I can assure you he has _nothing_ that would appropriate for that gala.”

There was snickering behind them, and Hansol turned and shot Seokmin, Chan, and Minghao an unimpressed glare. Hell, even Jihoon had broken into a smirk.

“We’ll take care of it,” Seungcheol responded with a smirk of his own.

Hansol just shook his head at the teasing. It was good, kept things light. A hard thing usually, with Jihoon in the room.

“So, appropriately dressed, us four will _attend_ the gala with no appearing ill motive,” Jeonghan said. “The rest of you,” he gestured to the four other boys. “Will work on removing the painting and getting it to a secure location.”

“Will I get to shoot someone?” Jihoon asked, arms crossed.

Seungkwan shot Hansol an alarmed look, his dark brows disappearing beneath his now faded-red bangs.

Jeonghan sighed. “I mean, hopefully, no because that meant our plan didn’t run smoothly. But who knows, maybe.”

“Nice.”

By Friday night, everything was ready.

“It really is a shame we were given such late notice,” Seungkwan tisked, brushing the non-existent dust from the shoulders of Hansol’s suit jacket. “I mean, I hate to show up to this kind of event in something off the rack. But whatever, it’s not like we want to really draw attention to ourselves in something too spectacular, right?”

Hansol chuckled softly. “I guess not.”

He didn’t really know what Seungkwan was talking about, because they both were wearing suits that cost several million won. His, a two-toned black jacket, with an elegant floral pattern in the lighter shade that caught in the light. Seungkwan’s white with solid black lapels, and a black shirt beneath with the same floral pattern as his own jacket.

Seungkwan was leaning in front of the bathroom mirror, fixing his hair. He had dragged Hansol along to some salon two days prior, so his red hair was back to a rich ruby shade. It was a nice pop of colour, a contrast to their black and white attire. His own dark hair had been cut, and he wore it pushed back from his face.

“Thanks for letting me put makeup on you,” Seungkwan said, looking at him through the reflection on the mirror. “you look like a bond character now. I mean, like, a young hot Asian bond. Not some old white man.”

Hansol couldn’t help but let out a laugh, his gummy smile reflected back at him in the mirror. “You’re fucking ridiculous. I don’t even know what you did, I don’t think it makes much of a difference.”

“I did light coverage foundation, contoured your already luckily structured face, filled in your brows, and did a light dusting of a cool tone brown for eyes,” Seungkwan said like it was obvious. “I think the brows are the biggest difference. They make you more commanding or dangerous or something.”

“Well, thanks.” Hansol shook his head, taking a seat at the edge of the bathtub. “Who knew what I really needed to look dangerous was darker eyebrows, not piercings or tattoos. Or a gun.” He raised a hand and patted his left chest where the weapon was concealed beneath.

Seungkwan turned to him, seemingly satisfied with his hair. It looked the same as when he started fussing with it to Hansol, but he kept his mouth shut. As long as Seungkwan was happy, it didn’t matter. “Speaking of which, I’ve armed you with that suit and face and hair. It’s time you armed me.”

Hansol raised a brow. “You want me to trust you with a gun?”

“Everyone else has them!” Seungkwan huffed.

Hansol stood, heading into the kitchen where he grabbed his wallet and phone. “I think you’ve been watching too many American movies, Kwan. And if you’d watch their news, you’d see that guns _kill_ people.”

Seungkwan had followed him and was frowning. “I know. I’m not dumb. I understand it’s dangerous. But what we’re _doing_ is dangerous! What if something goes wrong and I end up alone and unarmed. What am I supposed to do?”

“That won’t happen. I’ll be with you the whole night.” Hansol told him, opening his phone. The limo they were taking – because Jeonghan said they couldn’t arrive at the gala on the back of his motorcycle – was downstairs waiting. “I’ll protect you. That’s kind of my job.”

“I know. But shit happens!” Seungkwan pouted at him. Despite the hair and the makeup, the expensive suit, he still looked fucking adorable. “Please.”

“You know what? Fine. Wait here.” Hansol shook his head. He quickly headed to his room and pulled out the small safe that he kept underneath his bed. He unlocked it and pulled out a handgun. He left the magazine and locked the safe again.

“Here.” He said, handing the empty gun to Seungkwan in the living room. “Let’s go.”

Seungkwan beamed at him as they got in the limousine.

“We’re on our way,” Hansol said, turning on his earpiece.

Only a few moments later, Seokmin’s voice responded. “Everything looks good. Jeonghan and Seungcheol are about to leave. On GPS both Minghao and Chan are in place, Jihoon has been already for a few hours, much to his annoyance. Best of luck, boys.”

“Including me, right Seokmin?” Seungkwan responded, his voice echoing through Hansol’s earpiece due to the fact they were sitting right across from each other.

Hansol gave him a look but couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips.

“Especially you Kwan.” Seokmin replied.

“Okay, enough using the earpiece for fun. And remember, the right one is communication with everyone, left one is the distance hearing amplifier that only works if you tap it twice first. It’s time for shit to get real.” Hansol said, shifting in his seat. It had been a while since he’d been a part of an operation like this. And now he was going to be right in the thick of things, and he had someone else to protect now too. He refused to let any harm come to Seungkwan.

Seungkwan sighed loudly. “I think you should worry more about passing as someone who could get invited to this type of event. There’s going to be press, cameras flashing. In this type of circle, I’m not a total recluse. We may be approached, just a heads up.”

“Yeah, what’s going to be the plan if we run into Joshua?” It had become an impending worry in the back of his mind for some time now. As much as Jeonghan planned, there seemed to always be holes.

“Talk like normal, I guess.” Seungkwan shrugged. “Though, he did seem kind of weird last time. Maybe he was just being kind, polite, for your sake. I don’t know.”

The limo stopped, and Hansol could hear all the people outside. He peered through the tinted window behind him and swallowed hard. This was a huge, extravagant, public event. And they were going to pull off a heist right in the middle of it or die trying.


	15. Jeonghan - Blossomed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like everyone is suspicious about how much im updating lol

 

 

Jeonghan had anticipated the organized chaos that was the gala. _Commemorating most influential pieces of the twenty-first century,_ it was a mouthful of bullshit. And of course, Joshua was a highlighted artist, one so young, and from right here in Seoul. He wondered if anyone would approach him tonight, recognizing him as in fact only a man, no fallen angel. At least that’s what he’d tell them.

“Thirsty?” Seungcheol asked from beside him, grabbing two flutes of champagne from the waiter that was walking by. He held one out to Jeonghan, who took it despite the still lingering roll of his stomach. He had added a new poison to his list, and he had even been bed bound as his body fought the new addition. It would adjust with time, they always did, that was the whole point.

“Thanks,” Jeonghan replied, taking a sip of the bubbling liquid. Not that he really cared for champagne, in fact, he found it kind of pretentious and thought it tasted decidedly not good. But tonight was about appearances, about showing the city what kind of man he was exactly. _A powerful one._

The Old Hotel was a beautiful building, marble floors, crystal chandeliers. It was no surprise whoever was in charge of the gala had chosen this location. Jeonghan had seen photos online, and of course the ones Minghao had taken when acquainting himself with the location. But in person, it truly was something else.

“There are the boys,” Seungcheol said, tilting his chin to the left.

Hansol and Seungkwan were slowly making their way through the room, being stopped every few metres by someone who clearly recognized Seungkwan. He could see that they were making polite enough small talk before excusing themselves. Jeonghan hoped Hansol could handle this kind of setting. He wasn’t a boy accustomed to this level of excess and extravagance, even after three years. Hansol had never taken to him like some of the other boys, not coming along on some of his days of excess and fun. He cleaned up well enough though, looking sharp and handsome next to a glowing Seungkwan.

“They look good together,” Jeonghan commented, throwing a knowing glance in their direction. “what do you think?”

Seungcheol hummed. “They compliment each other. I do hope you have a plan for that after all of this is done.”

“I’m not sure,” Jeonghan responded, twirling the bubbling flute in his hand. “I was going to let it play out some more before I really planted any more seeds. Let them figure things out.”

“Hansol said he wanted to talk to me the other day. Maybe I can corner him and get him to confess to something before everything goes down.”

Jeonghan didn’t know how wise that would be. He and Seungcheol were well known enough to certain people, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted Boo Seungkwan’s date being associated with them. Might lead to all sorts of trouble.

“We’ll play it by ear, okay?”

Seungcheol nodded. “Speaking of.”

He held the button on his watch like device strapped to his wrist. It was even diamond encrusted, to help pass for a fancy watch. It, of course, was anything but. “Minghao, Chan, are you in?”

Jeonghan waited for the reply to come through his own earpiece. It took a few moments.

“Yes. Just waiting now.”

He raised a hand to Seungcheol, then dropped it again to subtly press the button on his own wrist device. “Good. Stay safe.”

He smiled at Seungcheol, filled with an eager anticipation. They were doing this. And finally, Jeonghan would get everything he had deserved after all this time. Because it wasn’t just about the fucking painting anymore, it had never really been. He had bigger plans, and a yearning to prove a damn point.

“I’m going to do a loop,” Seungcheol told him, setting his emptied glass on a tray on its way back to the kitchen. “double check security. Make sure there won’t be any bumps in the road.”

Jeonghan nodded, heading off in the opposite direction. He wanted to see Fallen Angel. It had been years.

He wove through the crowd easily enough, giving a range of polite to flirtatious smiles as he passed men and women alike. He may have even winked at a princess, but he stayed aloof. If his attendance wasn’t already duplicitous, he could have spent the evening making deals and weaving webs. _And_ , he had never slept with royalty. But he was young, there was time. And Seungcheol was terribly open-minded sometimes.

When he finally arrived in front of the painting, there were already a few other people milling about, examining it. He had forgotten how _massive_ it was. Well, the angel was the same size he was. But the painting and frame together came to a ridiculous size. Perhaps in the original plan, he should have taken Seungkwan’s warnings about how Minghao alone wouldn’t be able to move it. He wondered now what Minghao’s plan had been, but it didn’t matter. None of that had gone through.

“You know,” a soft voice said from behind him.

Jeonghan frozen. He hadn’t heard that voice in _years_ , and for too many of those, he spent wishing he could hear it again, whispering sweet things in his ear. This wasn’t part of the plan. He felt himself fill with dread, with anger, old wounds reopening.

Joshua stepped next to him, his classic feline smile hitting him with waves of nostalgia. Everyone had always said that they looked a bit alike, but he with his long ashen blond hair tied back looked nothing like Josh with his short chocolate brown hair and pierced ears. People used to say it was Josh with the soft and tender heart, and Jeonghan one to watch. But he knew better, Joshua could be just as bad as him, they were cut from the same cloth. They had been well matched once.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately,” Joshua confessed, soft eyes locked on Jeonghan’s. His heart rate had picked up, a loud _thud thud_ pounding in his ears. _God_ , he hated that he was still like this.

“I imagine it’s hard not to,” Jeonghan replied, tone even, eyes locked on the painting.  He refused to let Josh win again. “Seeming as you must be reminded of me every time this,” he gestured in front of them. “is brought up. And seeing as it is your claim-to-fame, and the only reason you’re even _here_ must be very hard. Do you ever feel bad about that? Having to think of me? Look at my image?”

Joshua’s smile didn’t drop. Instead, it widened, and it made Jeonghan’s heart absolutely ache and his stomach tie in knots.

“I’ve managed,” Josh replied, his long, slender hand coming up to rest on his chin. They were beautiful hands, artists hands. They could create. They could ruin. “Have you though?”

“You know better than to doubt my abilities,” Jeonghan countered. He’d missed this, in some sick sense. The challenge Josh could be when he wanted to. It had kept Jeonghan sharp back then, but his knife had found a new whetstone. “I’ve done more than manage. I’ve blossomed.”

There was a clever reply on the edge of Joshua’s tongue, Jeonghan could see it, anticipated it. _Yearned for it._ But before he could say anything, another man joined them.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, voice accented, referring to the painting. He was young, early twenties, about their age. And he was strikingly handsome, golden skin, strong jaw, puffy lips. His long obsidian hair tied back in a knot. He too was dressed to the nines in what appeared to be a custom suit and a sparkling diamond choker around his neck below his adam’s apple.

He and Joshua exchanged a look, just like they used to do. He cursed himself inwardly for how easily they fell back into old habits like they had never been apart, like none of this had happened. Like they had been allowed to be just Jeonghan and Joshua.

The other man glanced at them, his dark eyes widening. “You’re,” he paused eyes flickering back to the painting. “You’re the damn angel.”

“I’m afraid I’ve fallen even further since then,” Jeonghan replied, and Joshua chuckled beside him. “And you have the honour of being in the presence of not only I but vastly talented Joshua Hong, the artist.”

“Hannie exaggerates,” Josh said, smiling warming at their new companion, dismissing the saccharine compliment. “I am honoured to just be here. Incredibly grateful.”

“You’re so young,” The man said to Josh. It was a remark as common as bees among rose bushes.

“Shua was even younger when he painted it,” Jeonghan said, his mind remembering how they’d just been boys when he’d offered to pose for Josh. He had been in an artistic rut, unable to draw or paint anything satisfactory, claiming to have lacked any inspiration. Jeonghan taking his clothes off while Josh’s parents were at church one Sunday morning had helped.

“Yes, well, things were different then.” Josh lamented. “Weren’t they?”

The was a buzz in his earpiece. Seokmin’s voice. “Ten minutes everyone.”

There was a series of confirmations, and he turned to leave only to find Seungcheol next to him.

“There you are, angel.” He said in greeting. Seungcheol glanced at the other two men. “Please excuse us.”

Jeonghan noticed Josh’s curious gaze, eyes roaming Seungcheol before cocking a brow. “It was nice seeing you, Hannie.” He said, waving one of his stupidly perfect and large hands in goodbye.

They made their towards the seated area of the event, following the already slowly moving crowd in that direction. The speeches were in five minutes.

“That was Joshua,” Seungcheol said, his tone lacking any jealousy that another man’s might have had in a similar situation. Instead, if anything, he sounded impressed or maybe amused. “wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Jeonghan responded, “he approached me. It was fine. Everything is still under control.”

They took a seat at their assigned table on the edge and Seungcheol smirked at him. “You never told me he looked like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jeonghan said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “You knew Seungkwan was adopted.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol shrugged, that stupid shit-eating grin still plastered to his handsome face. “But you didn’t tell me Joshua was hot.”

Jeonghan frowned. “Choi Seungcheol this is not the time. But good to know you have a type.”

Seokmin’s voice buzzed in his ear again. “I’m starting the countdown, Chan. Everyone good?”

Jeonghan moved to reply, absentmindedly noticing his cufflink, a golden bee was undone. Before he could fix it, he suddenly halted. Across the room, dressed in a couture suit and with visible eye makeup, even at this distance, stood Jeon Wonwoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're a bit confused in the beginning look up mithridatism


	16. Chan - Roses Make Pretty Not Petty Thieves

 

Chan licked his lips in anticipation. There was sweat forming at the back of his neck, but it wasn’t the bad kind. He was _excited_. This was the first mission he’d been on like this. Minghao had drilled him over and over on the details, a veteran on this type of affair. Well, nothing exactly like this, because this wasn’t the type of thing the White Rose Company did. Elaborate fine art heists weren’t terribly practical. But Jeonghan had presented them with a challenge, and hell, Chan was ready to rise to the occasion.

“The doors are unlocked,” Hansol’s voice said through the earpiece. Chan and Minghao both had proper ones that hooped around securely, unlike the others who wrote studs that passed as earrings. “Cameras in the ballroom down?”

“They will be, counting down in three, two, and one,” Chan replied, fingers whirling on the keyboard. He had taken out the cameras in the hallways where Hansol and Seungkwan and gone to take what was supposed to appear to have been a lover’s stroll earlier. They had been unlocking and securing the exit route instead. “Remember, they’ll only be down for four minutes. You guy just need to secure the ties on the frame and leave the rest to Minghao and I. Got it?”

It was Seungkwan who responded. “Understood. Almost there.”

Minghao sat beside him, sly smile on his face. “Send the final files of code to Jeonghan now to activate when we’re ready. Put the laptop away and let’s move.”

Chan didn’t need to be told twice. It only took a matter of seconds before he had the computer in his bag, and on his back.

Minghao had already partially removed the tile that opened above the ballroom earlier. He pulled it fully back now and looked down.

“Guards are all positioned at the other end of the room, where there’s still a couple people lingering who haven’t headed into the seated area.” Minghao said, then looked up at him. “Do you want to do the honours?”

Chan grinned. “Really?” He quickly scrolled through the files on his wrist device, some genius piece of technology Jeonghan had invested in from some high-tech security firm in Japan. He was sure it wasn’t legal. But a lot of things they were about to do weren’t. He set his earpiece to that of the guard’s radio frequency. He cleared his throat. “There’s a suspicious looking woman headed down the east hallway, she looks like she has a gun. Maybe something beneath her dress.”

They watched together as the few final guards who had been lingering quickly vacated the room. Hansol and Seungkwan appeared immediately, moving across to Fallen Angel which hung on the wall beneath them.

Minghao was already dropping the rope and line down to them, and then disappeared below as well. Chan watched as within the span of a few seconds the painting was secured and Minghao began to use himself as a counterweight to move it up. Chan reached for the rope, grateful for the pulley system they had set up and began to pull. It burned in his hands, his arms straining under the weight.

“Five minutes, Jeonghan.” Chan managed, voice tight with the effort. It took what seemed to be ages, though couldn’t have been more than half a minute to get the painting up. He reached for it carefully, its size huge and awkward.

Minghao pulled himself up through the hole after it with practiced ease. Chan was envious of the other boy’s abilities, especially in situations like this. He had even asked Minghao to teach him a few times, but it seemed like he had been born with a certain weightlessness, a ghost like ability to move.

“Cameras are back on below,” Chan said, reading the message flashing on his wrist. The less of a time gap the better.

“Let’s move,” Minghao said, he was no longer sporting the smile from earlier. He looked serious now, determined. It was his perfectionist streak, he wasn’t about to botch a mission, especially not this one. Chan tried not to think of the consequences they would all face if they were somehow caught.

Together they carried the painting with surprising speed, despite being cautious and exceedingly careful. Jeonghan would not forgive even _him_ if they managed to damage it.

Minghao opened another tile after about fifty metres and dropped through. Chan was relying his knowledge of the building, that the one single night he’d explored he’d learned enough to get them out of there alive.

“Hand it down,” Minghao said, hands appearing. “ _Carefully_.”

Chan did, grateful for how wide the tiles were in this building. Their size was something Minghao had originally noted, and Jeonghan had seized onto this little detail, exploited it.

Once the painting was through Chan followed it down into an empty custodial hallway. He put the tile back in place quickly and picked the painting up again.

“We’re almost to the door,” Minghao said, and Chan knew he wasn’t saying it just to him. He was saying it to everyone who were eagerly listening. Everything was going so smoothly, a bit exhausting due to the physical effort Chan was putting forth, but that was okay. It had been expected.

The earpiece buzzed. “Some suited bastard with a man bun just stepped outside the door you’re headed for,” Jihoon’s voice was gruff, laced with annoyance more than anything else.

Chan’s eyes widened, and they came to halt. “Fuck.”

The door was less than ten metres away. Someone had been waiting for them. _Was_ waiting for them.

“Should I take him out?” Jihoon asked.

“I’m sending out the cell jammer,” Jeonghan replied.

He sounded a lot calmer than Chan felt. He couldn’t even feel relief at the knowledge that they were essentially shutting down all wireless transmissions within a two-block radius. The ability to do so much damage through the touch of a button had its benefits when hacking security systems, opening doors. Interfering with the signals of the devices that everyone had, cutting them off from communicating, sending information, was a crucial part of their getaway plan. No police response, no media report, _nothing_ , until Jeonghan turned it off. Their radio wouldn’t be affected.

Minghao glanced back at him, eyes dark. “Don’t be afraid to use what you’ve got,” He said, and Chan knew he meant weapon. Gun. Knife. Whatever was quicker.

“ _Jeonghan_ ,” Jihoon’s voice was hard, any patience he had gone.

Before a response came through the earpiece though, the door ahead of them opened.

“Better be quick boys,” The man said in his accented voice. He was as Jihoon had described him, in a suit with his dark hair pulled back. Jihoon had failed to mention that he looked like a cross between a male model and movie villain. “Though, my phone doesn’t appear to be working? I take that was you guys?”

Minghao had froze, something flashing in his eyes that Chan didn’t catch. It wasn’t fear, it was something else. “Get out of the way, Junhui.”

 _Junhui_? Chan didn’t understand. Minghao knew him?

The man smiled at them, at Minghao. Smiled the way Chan had seen Jeonghan smile at Seungcheol before. It made the hairs on his arms rise.

“Guys, what’s going on?” Jihoon’s voice came through the earpiece. “The guy in the suit went inside. Right where Chan and Minghao are. _Guys_?”

“Shoot.” Seungcheol’s voice said firmly. He was their leader, he took command when it mattered. He wouldn’t let them fail.

“He’s inside!” Jihoon’s voice hissed through the earpiece. “The door is still ajar, but he’s not there. I can’t fucking shoot!”

Junhui nodded his head to the door. He said something that Chan couldn’t understand, Mandarin he realized. That’s why the accent sounded familiar.

“Open it then,” Minghao said, moving forward. “Get out of the way.”

Junhui said something else in Mandarin, smirking. He opened the door further though.

“I’m making the corner,” Seokmin’s voice cut through. “Don’t you _dare_ shoot me Jihoon.”

They passed through the door, Chan eyeing Junhui warily. Who the hell was he?

Outside it was dark, the city lights casting an orange glow down on them. The cameras were down in the alleyway already, so no need to worry about that. The SUV pulled up as the door behind them clicked shut, Junhui on the other side of it. Seokmin jumped out and opened the back, helping the load the painting carefully then covering it with cloth.

“We good?” Seokmin asked, flying back to the driver’s seat, slamming his door behind him.

There had been a flurry of conversation in Chan’s ear, but he had tuned it all out, focusing on what was in front of him. He was shaking from the adrenaline as he threw himself in the vehicle.

“Mission Fallen Angel: Complete.” Minghao said, and Chan didn’t need to look at his friend to know he was grinning. _They had done it._


	17. Seungkwan - New Buds with Old Thorns

 

 _They had done it_.

Seungkwan had somehow restrained himself from adding himself to the rushed conversation in his ear. Hansol had told him not to use the earpiece communication for fun, and Seungkwan figured that he wouldn’t be terribly helpful in directing the mission. Their part had been completed. It didn’t seem real yet. It had all been so fast, so meticulously planned and organized, headed by Jeonghan. It seemed unreal.

Now, to deal with the inevitable onslaught of chaos once everyone realized Fallen Angel was gone. And that would be sooner, rather than later.

“People are beginning to notice,” Hansol commented next to him.

He looked like some sort of rich villain in that suit and with his makeup like that. Seungkwan had struggled the entire night to keep his eyes ahead of him, focused, and not locked on the other boy. He couldn’t believe he’d called Hansol hot to his face earlier, his stupid mouth getting the best of him. But it wasn’t like had _lied_. Hansol did look hot. But, Seungkwan also kind of thought he _always_ looked hot.

He glanced around. People weren’t technically supposed to be on their phones during the speeches, the media not allowed to livestream anything, this was supposed to be a private event for elites. Reporters were allowed to write about the event, the speeches given, the people attended, but not record. However, despite how pleb checking your phone constantly was, even some of the attendees around them were guilty of it. Whispers and pointing to cell phones had begun.

“How long do you think we have?” Seungkwan asked, voice low enough not to be heard by anyone around them. He left out the until shit hits the fan, part.

“Not long.” Hansol replied, eyes locked on the front of the room. Unaffected, discreet, the perfect model of the pseudo-spy Jeonghan had demanded. He had somehow remained calm listening to the whole mission unfold while they sat motionless, trying to pass as normal gala attendees.

The speeches continued for a few more minutes, the whispering increasing.

Seungkwan suppressed a frown as his brother’s name was called, Josh standing and waving at the mention of his piece. He looked perfect as always. The perfect son, the perfect humble artist. Hell, Seungkwan was sure Josh would play the role as a perfect victim of such a theft too. He didn’t know what Jeonghan wanted Josh to feel, he still hadn’t quite managed to unravel all that yet. Did he want Josh to feel loss? Betrayal?

But Seungkwan had also seen the two of them talking together, looking up at Fallen Angel. They were so alike, really. They looked like they belonged together, a matching set, side-by-side. Both wanted the world or nothing.

Suddenly a woman was climbing the stage and whispering hurriedly into the ear of the man who was mid thank you speak. _This was it,_ Seungkwan realized. The White Rose’s time had run out. Someone had noticed. Time for the final phase of the mission.

“Everyone, I am sorry to say but we must pause our evening of celebration.” The man said voice strained. Confused. Lost. “Please stay in this section of the gallery. Help yourself to refreshments. The main gallery is under lockdown right now. We will try to keep everyone updated. Stay calm, everyone is safe. Thank you.”

Of course, no one stayed calmed. Soon almost the entire room was standing, trying to leave the gallery, only to be stopped by guards. Or trying to find friends on the other side of the room. It was loud and crowded, people pushing.

Seungkwan scanned the room, finding Jeonghan and Seungcheol looking surprisingly like the rest of the room. To his eyes though, he could tell they were pretending. Actors mimicking the scared confusion around them.

He didn’t know what he and Hansol should be doing. _Something though._

He looked beside him. Hansol’s brows had furrowed. Seungkwan stared, watching him for any sign that they should leave, they should go help, they should do _something_.

“Let’s move.” Hansol said to him, standing in one easy motion.

He mirrored the movement. They wove through the throng of people. He resisted the urge to reach out and grab Hansol’s hand. He wanted to, but it was wildly inappropriate. He was sure that somehow someone would manage to snap a photo and post it online (when the blocker was down) and it would just be another scandal. His parents would love that. But he also didn't really care what his parents thought anymore.

The fearful crowd pressed in from all sides, and before they had gone far, Seungkwan realized he had lost sight of Hansol ahead of him. _Fuck_ , he thought, stopping in his tracks. He craned his neck in all directions trying to catch sight of the other boy.

“Seungkwan?” A familiar voice called out to him. Not a voice he was expecting though.

He turned and saw his best friend looking striking in a suit, eyes wide in confusion. “Mingyu?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mingyu asked, coming to stand in front of him. “Do you know what’s going on? They’ve shut down the rest of the building, we’re all being held in here until security can sort shit out. I heard talk that something was stolen! How crazy is that?”

Seungkwan hesitated, wanting to tell his best friend everything, but knowing better. He glanced around for Hansol, but amid the confusion of the crowd he was still lost. “I’m here to support Josh, of course. What are you doing here?”

Mingyu visibly brightened, lips pulling back into a wide grin. It had been ages since Seungkwan had seen his friend happy enough to flash his wolfish smile. “I’m on a date!”

“And you seem happy about it,” Seungkwan replied, brows furrowing slightly. Mingyu _hated_ going on dates. They were always arranged by his parents in hope of some business deal via their son’s marriage. They seemed oblivious to Mingyu’s inclination towards men. “That’s a first.”

“Don’t judge me, but I think I’m in love.” Mingyu confessed, stupid grin still plastered to his face. He looked as happy as Seungkwan had ever seen him, but he doubted his friend’s ability to fall in love within the few weeks they’d been apart. He believed in love, but not the love at first sight type. Love took time and work.

“How do you know you’re in love?” He asked instead, while being bumped into someone from behind. The room was too crowded and tensions high.

Mingyu’s eyes flickered shut, a hand coming to rest on his cheek, as if remembering something fondly. “I’ve never felt like this before. It’s kind of stupid, I know that. But I just can’t help it. I want to look stupid if it means earning a smile. I want to break all the rules. Hell, Seungkwan, I want to lay in bed and try to feed him ramen while he games.”

“That,” Seungkwan paused, lost for words. “Sounds like quite the predicament.”

“You know I never thought I had a thing for bad boys, and it turns out I don’t!”

Seungkwan resisted the urge to facepalm.

Mingyu continued. “He’s so soft hearted I want to cry! I mean, sometimes I do cry. Well, I did once because he was trying to pet a stray cat on the street and I was drunk.”

He reached for Seungkwan, trying to grab him and wrap in a hug. Seungkwan let it happen, let the people passing by stare at them. He was used to staring when Mingyu was involved, his best friend never doing things that seemed appropriate for someone who looked the way he did. Everyone expected Mingyu to be suave and cool. And he was _anything_ but.

Pressed against the other’s body, Seungkwan groaned. “Mingyu, sweetie, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m in love!”

“Okay.” He took a step back. “What’s his name?”

Before Mingyu could answer though, there was a buzz in his ear. Seokmin.

“Wait,” Seungkwan took another step back from Mingyu. He needed to focus on the mission. This wasn’t over yet. He couldn’t get distracted.

“Almost back to headquarters.” Seokmin said. “Chan and Minghao are safe.”

“Good. Hansol. Kwan. Get out.” Jeonghan ordered, voice surprisingly soft and light. He sounded calm and under control, like he had none of the adrenaline that was pumping through the rest of their veins.

Seungkwan spun, looking around the room for him. He spotted Jeonghan near the exit, sipping champagne and looking to be talking intimately with Seungcheol. He didn’t look like he was directing an illegal fine art heist through a disguised fancy radio type thing (Seungkwan still wasn't quite sure what it was) on his wrist. That’s why Jeonghan scared him. He was too good at all of this. “I’m turning off the blocker in two minutes. Publicly excuse yourselves. Meet everyone back at the building. Stay safe boys. Be smart.”

Then, before Seungkwan could do anything else, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He turned and found Hansol.

“Thank god,” Seungkwan said, letting out a relieved breath. “Let’s get out of here.”

Hansol smiled at him, the first genuine one all night. “We did it.” He said, voice low, barely loud enough to be heard amongst the chatter around them. “We did it, Kwan. It seemed so impossible, so unlikely when we first began. But we did it.”

They were so close, he could feel Hansol’s hot breath on his face. It smelled like expensive beer, from the singular drink they had permitted themselves to seem natural. They had been physically close before, used to sharing a bed a night now. But this, this was different somehow.

“We did it.” Seungkwan echoed. His eyes locked on Hansol’s chestnut ones, shining with the reflected chandelier light above them. It all seemed impossible. Being here. Being here with Hansol. Having done what they had done.

“We couldn’t have done it without you,” Hansol told him. “ _I_ couldn’t have done it with you.”

Seungkwan saw Hasnsol’s eyes flicker south for a quick moment. Looking to his lips. They were so close. One more bump from someone passing by and they would be kissing. It would be so easy. Almost an accident.

“Seungkwan?” Mingyu called, confused.

Seungkwan looked up and took a step back from Hansol. “I have to go. I’ll text you. Or call.” he told Mingyu. Hansol was looking towards the exit. Waiting. “I miss you. I love you.”

Mingyu frowned. “I love you too.” He replied, eyes straying briefly to look at Hansol. “Stay safe. Stay out of trouble. I know that’s tough for you.”

Seungkwan let out a short laugh, mouth turning up into a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

Then, with the end of the mission in mind, Seungkwan followed Hansol out of the gallery and onto the street. The sounds of police sirens rang in the distance. Everything was going perfectly to plan.

Seungkwan knew what they had done was wrong. They had stolen, and from his brother nonetheless. But all of this, working with the White Roses, meeting Hansol, all seemed unlikely and impossible for a boy like him. They did bad things, but that didn’t mean they were bad people. Hell, he had never seen such love between a group of boys. They truly cared for each, bonded together as rebels with a cause – even if that cause seemed to just be finding a home and saving themselves. Seungkwan wanted what they had. Yeah, it could be dangerous, but he had quickly learned that’s what makes it fun.


	18. Seokmin - Sinners Never Sleep

 

 

 

 

 

Minghao was lying to him. To everyone.

Seokmin could almost always tell when someone was. It was something he and Jeonghan had worked on over the years. They had converted his optimistic innocence into something with a big smile hiding watchful ears and eyes. No one ever suspected him, least of all Minghao.

“Careful with that,” Chan warned them.

Seokmin let out a airy laugh at the younger boys seriousness, his fingers delicately wrapped around his side of the covered painting. Minghao held the other side, and the two of them did as Chan instructed them.

 _They moved carefully_ , as if they would dare do anything else. Not after this whole mission. They wouldn’t risk being the ones to mess all of this up, having stolen the painting from right under the public’s notice and then breaking it while unloading it at headquarters. Seokmin would be damned to let anyone down, not the White Roses. Definitely not Jeonghan.

Minghao let out soft groan as they carried the painting to the elevator. It was the first but surely not the last. Seungkwan had not been kidding when he had said the painting was massive. He estimated the frame to be about six feet long and weighing at least sixty pounds.

It was an awkward feat, but the three of them managed to bring the painting into the building from the underground garage up to the hidden room off Seungcheol’s office and into the vault within that.

“Can we look at it?” Seokmin asked, taking a step back after setting the painting down. “You both got to actually see it, I didn’t. I would like to see what all the fuss is about.”

He was only half joking. He genuinely did want to see Fallen Angel. It had quite the reputation. The legend around it had only grown, the whispers about the painting's origins becoming wilder as their mission extended in time. Everyone within the gang was talking about it. About how beautiful Jeonghan could be. About how he could somehow have looked so broken, yet angry, determined. About how Jeonghan must have allowed someone to seem in such a… _vulnerable_ state.

Chan raised an eyebrow at him. “Why? You that desperate to see Jeonghan naked?”

“Is it so bad I want to see one of the most famous paintings in the world?”

“No.” Minghao said, pulling back the covering. “It’s worth looking at. And now is our chance.”

Seokmin had not been expecting that answer.

Minghao had been off, quieter. Though, it was hard to tell because the Chinese boy tended to speak less due to the language difference. Still, there was something he was hiding. And it had to with that man at the back door of the Old Hotel.

“It really is something else,” Chan commented, eyeing the painting. “It makes you consider a lot of different things. And knowing Jeonghan it’s kind of a whole new spin on whatever you may have just thought as an objective viewer, you know?”

Seokmin did know. He had been thinking the same thing since he had done a quick google search of the painting on his phone all those weeks ago when the mission had first been purposed.

“It’s the eyes, too.” He said, tilting his head slightly to the side. “They have so many different emotions in them. Every time I look I see something different. Defiant. Hurt. Anger. Loss. Fight for survival.”

The painting was different in person than in photographs. It was a thing of beauty, almost overwhelmingly so. Seokmin could see why it was famous though, it was more than an aesthetic piece. It made you think. It made you feel. It made you ask questions. He wondered if Jeonghan had the answers. Because that’s who the angel was, Jeonghan. _His_ Jeonghan.

“Art is art.” Minghao said, reaching for the cover again. “It exists without us. Not for us. It will live on without us, meaning something different for each new generation. That’s just how it works.”

“I guess.” Chan shrugged, stepping out of the vault.

Seokmin followed him. He noticed the glance back at Minghao, the searching gaze. He didn’t think the younger boy understood what had happened back at the Old Hotel. He was suspicious too. But, Chan and Minghao were closer, had done their part of the mission together. He would not be going to report whatever had happened on their end without a chance to talk to the Minghao first.

There was a buzz at his wrist, a message from Jeonghan. _Police arrived. We will be back in an hour as we had alibis._

Seokmin smiled, pleased that everything was going so well. It was an ambitious job, even for the White Rose Company.

His wrist buzzed again. _They all have no damn clue._

“I’m going to change. I’ll meet up for the debrief in an hour.” Minghao said after reading the same messages.

They all exchanged satisfied smiles, but Seokmin could tell what was genuine and what was fake. All three of their smiles were imitations just for the sake of the others. Too much was lying heavy beneath the surface, waiting to make an appearance.

The hour went by quickly. Seokmin had changed, washed up, drank some water. Tried to run over the information in his head. It didn’t make much sense. And he _liked_ Minghao, he was a White Rose after all.

When Seungcheol and Jeonghan arrived they both sported their own versions of satisfied smiles, their's genuine. Neither of them seemed too worried, despite the obvious problem they had all encountered.

Seungkwan and Hansol arrived a bit later, after having been dropped off at the latter’s apartment and coming on motorcycle.

“Have fun?” Seokmin asked when they walked into Seungcheol’s office.

Seungkwan was glowing. His eyes shone brightly, and it wasn’t the makeup. His cheeks were a ruddy red from the cold night air, maybe the exhilaration of the motorcycle. Maybe from the adrenaline and being with Hansol the whole night. Seokmin wasn’t blind. The two had chemistry. _And then some_.

“Absolutely.” He grinned.

“You did a good job.” Seokmin said, slapping Seungkwan on the back.

“You really did, Kwan.” Hansol added, sitting down beside Chan on the loveseat. “Not just anyone has the balls to do what you just did.”

Seungkwan sat on the arm of the loveseat, throwing his grin down at the other boy. “I like it. Honest. I feel like I could do it again. And worse.”

Jeonghan was the first one to let out a laugh, it wonderfully uncouth. It was one of Seokmin’s favourite things about him. Despite all the things he had done, how much he had changed and learned and fought – he still had that genuine bastard of a laugh. Seokmin thought that’s how all laughs should be. Real.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself quite yet.” Seungcheol said, shaking his head in amusement. He was rolling up the sleeves his button up, revealing more ink on skin. He had rid himself of his suit jacket earlier, or perhaps Jeonghan had. Now that he was looking, Seokmin noticed a pretty blooming mark right on the tattoo on Seungcheol’s neck. The one of the angel with it’s wings wrapped around it of course. Fallen.

“Imagine what your brother would do if he knew!” Jeonghan said, eyes shining. “I have turned his sweet little brother into a felon and a thief. And I’m sure after these few weeks have you dipped your feet into all sorts of dangerous waters. Have you found a taste for poison fruit?”

Everyone turned to Seungkwan, who shrugged. “I like the risks. I like the rewards. I’m growing to like all of you.”

Seokmin wouldn’t mind if Seungkwan decided to stick around, to join the White Rose Company. The boy was smart enough, creative enough. He was damn hilarious and had a surprising arsenal of skills. Seokmin would be grateful if they got to stay friends. He missed someone he could just be silly with since Soonyoung had left them.

“You don’t know half of what you’re talking about.”

Jihoon stood in the doorway, his pale features unreadable.

“I’m not saying I-” Seungkwan began but was cut off by Jihoon throwing the gun strapped to his onto the desk in front of him.

“Shoot it.” Jihoon said.

The office was silent, everyone shocked. Everyone waiting. Watching. This too, was a test.

Seungkwan’s eyes flew to Hansol’s, lost, looking for guidance. No one could help him though.

"You’ve never even fired a gun, have you?” Jihoon said, his tone glacial.

“No,” Seungkwan responded, voice wavering. “But I have one. Hansol gave me one. For the mission. In case I needed to use it.” He retrieved it from his own hip, holding it out as proof.

Jihoon’s eyes switched to Hansol. He cocked a brow. Annoyance? Amusement?

"Lucky you didn’t have to use it.”

Seungcheol cleared his throat. “Enough.” He said. “It’s getting late. Let’s get this over and done with.”

“The painting is in the vault?” Jeonghan asked.

Seokmin nodded. “Yes.”

“Everyone is okay? No injuries or traumas or things they want to get off their chests?”

He wondered if that last bit was directed at Minghao.

Everyone proclaimed their wellbeing. They were all still pumped full of adrenaline from the mission. Time reveal other things. It always did.

“Good.” Jeonghan nodded. “You all did a spectacular job. Showed me what you’re capable of doing when the stakes are high but the ambition greater. I’m proud.”

 Seungcheol stood, dismissing them all. “Get home safe. Stay out of trouble, boys.”

The room emptied quickly. Seokmin hung behind.

“What’s up?” Jeonghan asked him, slipping on his suit jacket that he too had removed earlier. He took a step towards the door.

“Can we talk?”

Jeonghan shrugged. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

"I’m being serious.” Seokmin said, voice dropping low. “There’s something going on. With Minghao.”

“Ah.” Jeonghan hummed. “Go on.”

He licked his lips, searching for the right words. He didn’t want to sound accusatory or stir up trouble. But he couldn’t let this go by. “The man that was at the door at the Old Hotel. The one with bun and a suit, Jihoon had said. There’s something going on with him and Minghao. I could tell when he and Chan got into the vehicle. He was shaken up by the encounter, but not hurt. And Chan keeps looking at him like the family dog he’s loved his whole life just bit his baby sister and he doesn’t know what to do.”

“You think Minghao is going to double cross us?”

He hesitated. “No. Honestly, no.”

“But?”

“There’s something going on. I don’t know what. But that guy _saw_ us stealing the painting. And he let them go.” Seokmin shook his head. “It has to mean _something_.”

Jeonghan reached out and cupped his jaw, the gesture tender. Kind. His hand shook though. “You’re too good by half. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you.” He smiled and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll look into it. Okay?”

Seokmin nodded, relieved. “Okay.”

“Go home. Get some rest. There’s always more work ahead for us.” Jeonghan said, exhaustion in his eyes.

“You too.”

“I have things to do. Sinners never sleep.”


	19. Jeonghan - The Fallen & the Damned

 

 

 

 

 

Jeonghan’s hands shook as he picked up his phone and answered the call.

“What are you doing?” Seungcheol asked. He sounded both cautious and amused, a dangerous combination. “I think you need to come to the office ASAP.”

Jeonghan frowned. “I’m with Chan. We went and purchased a grand piano for the living room. You know how I’ve been thinking of getting one for a while.” He omitted the part where he had almost passed out while being shown the pianos by an overzealous saleswoman. He had allowed Chan to pick out whatever he liked. His body was still fighting the previous night's doses and Jeonghan knew his sweat smelled like poison and sickness. “Why? What’s going on?”

“We have a visitor,” Seungcheol responded. “I’m not sure how much you’ll want to see him, but you should come. I don’t know what to do.”

He glanced up and made eye contact with Chan was in the driver’s seat of Jeonghan’s Lambo. Normally Jeonghan travelled in limousines or rovers with tinted bulletproof glass but he knew Chan liked to get behind the wheel of some of the more indulgent things at their disposal.

 His wide eyes looked at Jeonghan, curious.

“We’ll head back now.”

It had been a week since the heist. Fallen Angel was _his._ After all these years, being sold as a commodity, having the one person who he thought he’d love forever to shove a knife in his back…Jeonghan had reclaimed what had been taken.

The funny thing was if Joshua had asked if they had made some emolument agreement it would have been fine. Josh didn’t need the money, and Jeonghan had had essentially nothing. And yet Josh had let his parents legally ostracize Jeonghan. Josh had left him powerless, and now, after amassing his own fortune with his wit and hard work, Jeonghan had power. He didn’t need the damn painting, hell, he didn’t even want it. But he had loathed what it represented for years. And now, at least for a little while, it was his.

And of course, it was all over the media, the hottest story in the world right now. The infamous painting was stolen at art gala, right under everyone’s, including the artist’s nose. It was making headlines everywhere; the painting’s worth being reevaluated to something like two billion won. No one could understand how it had happened, the police had no real leads.

“You never did tell me your side of things,” Jeonghan said. He glanced out the window, the colours of the city muted under the rain. “What did that man by the door say? What did he look like exactly?”

Chan hesitated, keeping his eyes on the road as he shifted gears. “He didn’t say much. At least that I could understand. He talked mostly in Mandarin.”

That matched the man that Jeonghan had talked to, his speech had been accented. He had already started to draw that connection, trying to figure out this bump in the road. But Minghao hadn’t mentioned that the man was Chinese, which was odd. What was said between the two of them? And why was Minghao keeping secrets from him now? It didn’t make sense.

“And he had long hair?”

“Yeah, long black hair tied back in a bun or whatever. And he was dressed fancy, so I guess he was attending the gala.” Chan replied. He paused for a moment, slowing to a stop at a red light. He looked at Jeonghan properly. “He was really good looking, and I’m not one to go handing out compliments, but that’s the best way to describe him. Maybe an actor or something, he looked kind of familiar, I don’t know.”

It had to have been the same man. But who was he? And what did he want with the White Rose Company? He clearly knew about their heist, but he hadn’t turned them over to police. Yet. Either someone had talked from the Roses, or someone on the other end of the deal.

“And no name I’m assuming,” Jeonghan sighed, rubbing at his temple.

“Actually, that I do know,” Chan replied, a bit more upbeat. He signalled to turn, checking his rain covered mirrors. “Minghao called him Junhui.”

“Minghao _what_?”

Chan pulled into the underground parkade at WRC headquarters. He quickly parked and then shrugged. “He seemed to know the guy. Maybe because they’re both Chinese, I don’t know.”

Jeonghan let out a groan. Things were falling into place now. Except for Minghao’s involvement, that he didn’t quite understand. Not yet at least. Everything else though made a bit more sense.

“I’m heading up to the office, I’ll see you later,” Jeonghan told him, taking his car keys, and stepping out shakily. “Stay out of trouble.”

Chan gave him a mischievous smirk that held no promises.

By the time Jeonghan reached the top floor of the building, he had managed to clear his head a bit. He was strong, this would pass. He had to deal with whoever was waiting with Seungcheol and then he could go home and rest. He had to plan. Finish the deal.

He knocked only once before entering Seungcheol’s office. He was not prepared for what he found.

“Lovely for you to join us, Hannie.” Joshua turned in his seat to smile at him earnestly. He kept using that old damn nickname, he was the only one Jeonghan had ever let call him that. He had forbidden Seungcheol from it early in their relationship. He didn’t want to be reminded of Josh every time.

Seungcheol sat behind his desk looking guilty.

“What a surprise,” Jeonghan said, not missing a beat. He heard the door click behind him as he made his way through the room. “I didn’t know you knew where I worked. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I assume you’ve been watching the news,” Joshua replied, tone surprisingly light.

“Oh, yes. A tragedy.” Jeonghan replied. “An absolute wonder. And of course, a nightmare for you. Your famous painting was stolen, right in the middle of the gala.”

He went behind the desk where Seungcheol sat and leaned on the dark wood, steadying himself. He was feeling better, his body processing, building immunity. He didn’t want to appear weak, not in front of Seungcheol, not in front of Josh. He couldn’t.

“Yes. The police tell me whoever stole it had to be have been some special team to take out all the security and manage the whole thing in the centre of such an event.” Joshua said, eyes locking on his.

Jeonghan held back a smile as best as he could. That was good news, the police would surely let Josh know of any leads or information first. And such praise! He would have to be sure to gift the boys appropriately when everything was done.

Josh crossed his arms across his chest, holding Jeonghan’s gaze. “And I know it was you.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an accusation really. He was stating a fact, and now they were playing a very dangerous game. Jeonghan wanted to hate Josh for this, for everything he’d done and still coming back after all this time just to ruin things once more. Could he not let Jeonghan have this one thing? One pure display of vengeance? Of reclaiming his loss of self?

“Tell me this, Shua,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even. He needed to stay in control. “Are you happy? Has all of this made you happy? The painting? The fame? Have you found happiness alone in the public’s eye, doing your parent’s bidding?”

Josh narrowed his eyes. “I can’t say I am exceptionally unhappy, no.”

“But don’t you think you would be so much happier if you could’ve been true to yourself, to your heart?” He asked, voice glacial.

“I don’t think this is what you should be-” Seungcheol started, concerned, reaching for Jeonghan’s arm. He stepped out of reach. Towards Josh. Their eyes locked. The same old challenge, the same old power struggle.

“Do you not imagine what our life could have been? Together?”

 _Together._ The word hung in the air between them along with everything else, all the memories and lost love. Because it had been love, once.

“Go to hell, Jeonghan.”

He laughed, too loud and too cold. “Really? Is this you asking me out on a date? I’ll see you there.”

Joshua stood. He was still taller than Jeonghan and looked down at him slightly, their bodies closer than they had been in years, even at the gala where they had stood side-by-side looking at Fallen Angel together. “You can’t expect me to let you get away with this.”

“There is no point in all of this,” Jeonghan told him. He threw a glance back at Seungcheol, who was remaining silent, watching this all unfold before him. Always steady, his anchor. “I cannot help you get the painting back. Maybe one day many years from now it will pop up in the black market.”

Josh frowned at him, calculating. “Angels would damn themselves for me.”

“And in the name of love, an angel goes through hell,” Jeonghan said, voice soft. He already was damned. Fallen. “Now get the fuck out of my office.”


	20. Minghao - Dangerous Liability

 

 

 

 

_This is fucking stupid._

Minghao didn’t know why he was doing this. It was dangerous and foolish. He didn’t understand the urge within himself that was driving him on this suicide mission. And yet he couldn’t let this opportunity pass, he needed to do this. He wished he knew why.

Minghao glanced down at the device on his wrist, reading the time. Almost midnight. It was almost time. And he liked to be early.

He dropped down from his hidden position in the tree and landed crouched soundless on the grass. The park was empty. Except for him, and the man he was expecting. Junhui had been sitting on the park bench waiting for the past ten minutes. Waiting for _him_. It seemed he too, liked to be early. Minghao was somewhat surprised by this. He didn’t know the man at all, and yet he had somehow gathered the feeling that Junhui was a man that didn’t wait for anyone. Least of all someone like Minghao. He seemed like the type that kept you waiting, uneasy in anticipation as the clock ticked on.

He glanced around him as he walked, footsteps soundless in the grass. Minghao couldn’t believe he was being this foolish. But he wanted answers. And he liked the intrigue, the challenge that this strange handsome man had presented to him. There was a story to be told here.

 _Fallen Angel_. That’s where it had all begun, and somewhere Junhui had inserted himself into their mission. First, that night, scoping out The Old Hotel. _Their kiss_. Then sitting so poised, reading a book and drinking coffee in that café. He had smirked across the room at him as Minghao stood in line, baffled. Suspicious. And finally, showing up at the gala. Interfering. But not. Junhui had let Minghao pass, held the door open. Assisted Chan and him in stealing the painting. And not turned them in. Yet. It didn’t make sense.

The air was cold, goosebumps rising on his arms as he walked toward Junhui’s seated silhouette. His heartbeat loud in his ears and Minghao told himself that it wasn’t because of the kiss. Which, looking back, was a stupid indulgence. Why did he have no impulse control when it came to pretty boys?

It was a dark night, despite being in the heart of Seoul. Even with all the gear, he had snagged from the WRC’s collection, Minghao’s senses were heightened with the knowledge of all the things the dark could hide. He was probably walking into a trap. It could cost him more than what he had, it could cost the WRC, cost Jeonghan, who had helped given Minghao his wings. And yet, he was still here. He still wanted to see Junhui. Talk to him.

Minghao went over the salient details. There wasn’t much. _Junhui_. Chinese. Likely from around Hong Kong, a Cantonese speaker along with Mandarin by the way he sounded. People worked for him. He could get into the gala. He knows Jeonghan. Knew the White Rose Company was going to steal Fallen Angel. He had let them get away with it.

He was close enough to see Junhui’s face clearly. He was handsome, composed. He made Minghao’s brain spin.       He was dressed differently though, black jeans, white t-shirt, black jacket. No suit. He looked younger. More young and reckless than cunning and dangerous.

Minghao jumped over the bench in one smooth motion, landing in a seated position. He was going to be in control. He wasn’t going to make any mistakes. “It’s a beautiful night.” He said.

Junhui turned to him, brows raised in surprise. His mouth pulled up at one corner, teasing. “I can think of something even more beautiful.”

“I got your message,” Minghao told him, ignoring the flirtation. He couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not. And even if it was, it couldn’t be trusted.

“I’m glad you came.”

“You told me we could talk,” Minghao said, holding Junhui’s gaze. He had an interesting face, handsome. Always smiling at him. It couldn’t be trusted. “So, let’s talk. How do you know Jeonghan?”

“Ah,” Junhui sighed, reaching up fussing with his hair. It was tied back messier today, and Minghao wanted to reach out and touch it. Pull him closer. “I was hoping we could talk about other things. Like what type of food do you like? Do you have a favourite restaurant? Are you available next Friday night?”

Minghao frowned slightly. He didn’t want to play games. “Are you going to go to the police? I can’t be a liability.”

“No,” Junhui said, turning to face him properly. He had soft dark eyes, the type that made girls swoon and boy’s hearts ache. “That wouldn’t be advantageous to anyone. Let me tell you this: you do not have to worry about the police from me. You do not have to worry about Jeonghan, or that painting or gangs or anything of those things when you’re with me tonight.”

He reached a slender tan hand out and tucked Minghao’s hair behind his ear, the gesture shockingly tender. Minghao froze under the touch. “I don’t trust you.” He said.

“You don’t need to,” Junhui told him, leaning closer. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Who are you?”

“I told you, my name is Junhui. I like to laugh and play tricks.” He flashed another smile. “I’ve been told that I get carried away with them sometimes, though.”

Minghao bit his lip, unsure of how to proceed. This wasn’t what he was expecting. Not that he had really expected anything, maybe some sort of vengeance plan on Jeonghan or some competing gang. He didn’t know. Not some soft confession.

“What about you?” Junhui asked. “Tell me about you, Minghao.”

“I like to have fun.”

Junhui rolled his eyes and let out a low laugh. “Come on. Everyone likes to have fun. Give me something else. Tell me what’s beneath the high fashion hair and the pretty curving brown eyes. What makes your heart beat faster?”

“I like to get into trouble.” He said after a moment.

“Is that why you’re in a gang?”

 He shook his head. “No. I just found a home there along the way. I like that being a part of one allows me to do all sorts of things though.”

“Illegal things.” Junhui supplied, raising a brow.

“Dangerous things. Exciting things.” Minghao shrugged. “And it gives me people I can trust. Rely on. The money’s not bad either.”

“I can tell,” Junhui commented, finger tapping the earring that hung in Minghao’s pointed ear playfully. It was the posion pendant, his constant back up plan. His security he’d carried with him from his previous life. “And what do you like to do with all that money?”

“I told you. Have fun.” He smirked. This was getting dangerously close to flirting. His palms were sweating, and he wanted to run away and pull the other boy closer all at once. “What about you? What do you do with all that money?” It wasn’t a question of whether he had money, they both knew Junhui was a man of affluence. Its origin remained a mystery to Minghao though.

Junhui looked at him again. He didn’t look the way Jeonghan usually did, assessing. Instead, Junhui had this sort of earnest curiosity to him, like when he looked at you like nothing else mattered to him.  He leaned forward. “Would it surprise you if I said I enjoy beautiful things?”

“No,” Minghao answered honestly, heart too loud in his ears.

“I am lucky enough to have found what makes me happy. Laughing and beautiful things. That is what I spend my money on.” He said, voice soft, eyes locked.

“Jun?” Minghao breathed, voice barely above a whisper as a hand reached out and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

Their noses were almost touching. Junhui’s hand on his neck, the other on his thigh. Minghao didn’t know when it had gotten there, the rings he wore catching in the dim light.

“Yes?”

“What do you want with me?” His mind whirled, remembering the last time they were this close. Things were so different this time. Still forbidden. Still confusing. He still wanted it all.

Junhui’s curving, impossibly puffy lips brushed against Minghao’s. “I just think you’re very beautiful,” he admitted. “and you’re making me want to break my business and pleasure rule.”

“What rule is that?” He asked processing and storing the information. Business. He was in business with the White Rose Company, he had to be. But what kind? How did he fit in all of this? It didn’t make any sense, but Minghao couldn’t think straight, a warm pull in his stomach overwhelming him as the other man leaned in even closer. It was stupid and dangerous but he didn't care. He would deal with the consequences later. 

“You don’t mix them.”

Minghao was breathing heavier now, the anticipation palpable in the air between them. “I don’t mind. I have always been a bit of a rule breaker.” He admitted, closing the distance and connecting their lips. This time, he was sure not to let it end so quickly.

 


	21. Mingyu - Surreptitious Love

 

 

 

 

 

“Yeah, I understand, Mom.” Mingyu sighed into the phone. He leaned against his kitchen counter, the cold of the granite pressing in through his thin pyjama pants. “I will meet her and whatever. Don’t worry about it. Just email or text me the details, okay?”

“It would be a good match,” His mother answered, “she’s a good girl. Pretty and smart. It would be good for the company too, her father and yours are signing a partnership for a new firm in the coming weeks.”

“I know,” Mingyu sighed, tired of the conversation. He looked over to the stove, where the noodles he was cooking were boiling away. “Listen, I got to go, Mom. I have company over and am cooking.”

His mother tsked into the phone. “Is it Seungkwan? You haven’t mentioned him in a while? How are his brother and the rest of the family doing? It’s such a scandal, a travesty. I have had people asking me about it, trying to get the latest news. Do you know anything?”

Mingyu took out two bowls and began to distribute the noodles. “No, I don’t know anything. I’m sure the police are working hard though.”

“Yes, you’re right.” His mother agreed. “Well, stay out of trouble. Have a good night, dear. Sleep well.”

“You too,” Mingyu replied. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

He shook his head as he ended the call, putting his phone into the pocket of his pyjamas. If only his mother knew half of it all. A gang run by Josh’s ex-had stolen the painting, and Seungkwan had helped them. It seemed absurd and so totally unlikely it made him want to laugh.

Mingyu picked up the two bowls and chopsticks and headed into the living room.

“Hey,” He smiled, setting the bowls on the table in front of the couch where Wonwoo sat. “I made food.”

Wonwoo glanced away from the tv screen for a moment, meeting his eyes and flashing his own smile. “Thanks, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

“Well, thanks,” Wonwoo mumbled cheeks colouring, returning his eyes to tv where whatever game he was playing continued unabridged.

Mingyu liked how Wonwoo still got so flustered and embarrassed over the most random of things. It was almost like he couldn’t believe that Mingyu liked him and wanted to do things for him.

He sat down next to Wonwoo and picked up his own bowl, half eating, half watching the other boy game. He didn’t mind. In fact, he kind of liked it. They could spend time together, but each of them doing their own thing. Wonwoo reading or gaming or doing whatever the hell he does on his laptop for work, and Mingyu playing on his phone or doing school work. It was almost weird they had reached this level of comfort so quickly in their friendship, their maybe more relationship. It was still kind of confusing, the lines blurry. Seungkwan thought it was hilarious of course and kept sending tongue emojis and other various innuendoes that had Mingyu hiding his phone when Wonwoo was in the room.

“Was that your mom on the phone?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu answered, mouth full. “I have to go on another stupid date with some executive’s daughter.”

“Oh,” Wonwoo said, low voice barely audible.

He didn’t know what kind of response he wanted, but it wasn’t that. Mingyu continued to eat, trying not to pout. He knew he had no right to be upset about this. It wasn’t like they were dating. After it had become clear that they both liked each other things hadn’t magically happened, things progressed slowly. More touching, later nights, more texting.

Mingyu had gotten properly drunk only a few days before at the art gala, where he had run into Seungkwan surprisingly (unsurprisingly once Wonwoo explained what the White Rose Company were doing, receiving a very confused message from Jeonghan after being spotted) and had sloppily kissed Wonwoo in the limo ride back to his apartment. Wonwoo hadn’t kissed him back, mumbling something about him being too drunk into his ear and helping him inside. It made Mingyu wonder what could have happened if he hadn’t downed so much champagne.

“Here,” Mingyu said, picking up Wonwoo’s untouched bowl and bringing the noodles towards him. “Eat.”

Wonwoo turned his head, eyes wide, amused. He looked like he wanted to protest, but instead, he just opened his mouth.

“It’s really good,” He commented, “everything you cook is good.”

“Are you just using me for my delicious food skills?” Mingyu teased, bringing another bite to Wonwoo’s mouth. “I knew it all along.”

“I am not!” Wonwoo protested mouth full. “I really do like you!”

“Then why are you okay with me doing on dates with all those girls?” Mingyu asked, then leaned away, horrified. He hadn’t meant to _actually_ say that, it had just slipped out. Not that he didn’t mean it, because he _did_.

Wonwoo paused the game and set down the controller. He looked at Mingyu fully, his dark eyes serious behind his glasses. “Who am I to dictate what you do?” He asked dark eyes look up at him. “You are told enough what to do by your parents, held to such high expectations. I don’t want to be another thing in your life telling you what you can and can’t do. I don’t know…I just want you to be happy.”

“You make me happy.”

Wonwoo snorted. “That’s so goddamn cheesy, Gyu, what the hell.” He sighed, running a long slender hand through his dark hair.

“I want you to be upset about the dates. I don’t know why it just seems like you don’t care and I want you to.”

“Do you want me to be honest? It kind of feels shitty if you’re going on dates with all these girls. Especially after the gala.”

“Because I kissed you?”

Wonwoo laughed, shooting him a frown. “No, you idiot. Because I thought _that_ was a date. Like us. _Together_. At a formal event that’s super important and people saw us together.” Then he shrugged, “I mean the kiss too.”

“Do I make you happy?” Mingyu asked, suddenly shy. He could feel his cheeks heating, and he wanted to be confident in this, to be true to himself. But Wonwoo was just so different than anyone else he’d ever known, ever loved. He wasn’t just one thing, he was smart but silly, he was cool and handsome and tattooed, but he also was lazy and cried over cats. It didn’t seem possible that such a person would like someone like Mingyu.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo nodded. Then, “you feed me, of course, I’m happy.”

“Shut up!” Mingyu laughed, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at Wonwoo. “I’m pouring my heart out here.” Then, "I won't go on any more dates if you don't want me to."

Wonwoo picked up both their empty bowls and headed to the kitchen, trying to hold back a smile. He was so damn thoughtful sometimes, it made Mingyu’s chest ache. It was just so unexpected sometimes, especially when he got so caught up in his bad boy looks, the tattoos and the lip piercing and those damn eyes. Wonwoo was just so intriguing to him, he had never felt this way before about another person. He had told Seungkwan at the gala he was in love, and as he watched Wonwoo wash their two bowls in the sink without being asked, he realized it was true. It seemed absurd, Mingyu had barely known Wonwoo for a month, but he couldn’t deny how he felt.

“Hey,” Wonwoo called, holding up one of the bowls in a dishtowel, “where do these go again?”

“Middle shelf beside the fridge.” He answered. He needed to get it together. Mingyu walked over to the kitchen, opening the cupboard. “Here, I can help.”

He reached his hand out to Wonwoo to take the bowl he was drying, but the other boy took a step back shaking his head. The sight of Wonwoo, with his dark hair hanging over his round glasses, the ink on his neck, the metal in his lip, so dangerous and yet so juxtapositioned. Boys like this weren’t supposed to be so damn sweet.

“Gyu, come on, let me.” Wonwoo furrowed his brows, feigning annoyance.

Mingyu flashed him a devilish smile and took a step towards him, pushing the other boy back against the counter. He wasn’t much taller than Wonwoo, and it was one of the things that had come up when they first started hanging out. Wonwoo had admitted he wasn’t used to anyone being taller than him, and it was slightly unnerving to him. Mingyu liked it and smiled wider when he noticed Wonwoo slowly rising on his toes, evening out their height.

“Let me help.” Mingyu pouted, stepping even closer.

He didn’t see Wonwoo as someone dangerous, and he knew he should. His bruise was long since faded but Mingyu had to keep reminding himself that it was _Wonwoo_ who had punched him and so easily knocked him out. It had been so fucking smoothly done and professional, and that’s the part he needed to keep reminding himself when he got too close like this. The other boy was capable of so much more than Mingyu ever could be. But fear wasn’t the reason his heart was racing, at least – not that kind of fear.

“No thanks,” Wonwoo replied. He suddenly raised his free hand to Mingyu’s chest and pressed it flat against it, pushing him back.

Mingyu, surprised, let himself be pushed back step by step until the other counter was pressing in cold and hard behind him. His heart was racing even faster now, in anticipation, in surprise. He stared at Wonwoo with wide eyes, his smile still hanging on to the corners of his lips. It was hard to stop smiling when Wonwoo was around.

“Mingyu?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I,” Wonwoo hesitated. “Can I kiss you?”

Mingyu’s face felt too hot. “Um,” He was not expecting that. He was just too aware his breath probably smelt like garlic from the noodles and how pretty Wonwoo’s eyes were especially when they were this close and focused. Focused on _him_. “Yeah, sure, I mean if you want.”

Wonwoo closed his eyes and let out a low chuckle. “Gyu,” He looked back up at him, grinning. “I wouldn’t have asked to kiss you if I didn’t want to you idiot.”

And then, he _did_.

Mingyu had been kissed many times before, but he had never been kissed by Wonwoo, (that drunken mess did not count, and he largely did not remember it). And he had never wanted to be kissed as badly as he had wanted Wonwoo to kiss him. He’d thought about it for weeks on end now, lying in bed at night imagining the press of the other boy’s curing lips against his. He had spent ages wondering what the small metal stud in the centre of Wonwoo’s lip would feel like against his own, would it make the kiss better? Worse? He found it hard to imagine any kiss with Wonwoo as a bad one.

He knew now what it was like. The first words coming to mind being _fucking fantastic_. The only thing he hadn’t expected was how fucking tender Wonwoo was, caressing his jaw and moving his lips so slowly, _purposefully_ , like he wanted nothing more than to make Mingyu melt with his every touch.

The kiss broke too soon, leaving Mingyu leaning forward, searching for more as Wonwoo stepped away, smirking.

“I got to finish putting these dishes away,” he said simply, flashing his smug smile apologetically.

Mingyu stared wide-eyed, confused and lost for words. He wanted _more_.

“Who knew that a kiss is all that it took to shut you up,” Wonwoo commented, finishing up the dishes with a laugh. He was trying to look unphased, relaxed and normal, but there was red flush creeping up his neck and onto his chin. He wasn’t unaffected. “It’s not too late yet,” said, heading back to the living room. He picked up the controller he had been using earlier and looked at Mingyu, who had followed him in. “do you want to play with me?”

“Wonwoo, can I be honest?”

“Uh, of course,” Wonwoo replied, brow raised.

“I don’t want to play video games with you right now,” Mingyu said.

“Oh, that’s okay, we can-”

Mingyu sat down next to Wonwoo. He was hyper-aware of the way the other boy’s shirt collar hung low, collarbones on display, so pale compared the mass of red and black ink above. “I want to kiss you again.”

Wonwoo glanced away for a moment, as if embarrassed. Then, as if he’d considered his options, he locked eyes with Mingyu. “If you want to, then do it.”

Even with permission, Mingyu still was slow to move closer, connect their lips. He wanted this so badly, but he wanted it to be perfect. He didn’t want to mess this up, Wonwoo was too good to mess up.

Mingyu smiled into the kiss and then felt Wonwoo do the same before the other boy was pulling him closer and deepening it. All of Mingyu’s senses were in overdrive, all of them screaming _Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonwoo_. And that was okay, hell, it was better than okay it was perfect. To touch, to smell, to taste the other boy and pull him closer and closer until they were so entangled.

He hovered above Wonwoo, who laid on the couch, smiling up at him, panting. Mingyu began to kiss from the other boy’s lips, to his cheek, to his ear, to his jaw and down his neck. He wanted to taste all of Wonwoo, he wanted to make him gasp and say his name.

Then, a cell phone began to ring.

They disentangled themselves, and Wonwoo reached for his phone, reading the caller ID.

“Hey, can I take this?” Wonwoo asked, glancing up at him through his glasses. “It’s Soonyoung.”

Wonwoo’s best friend. He still remained largely a mystery….an ex-member of the White Rose Company, and yet, still Wonwoo’s closest friend. Mingyu was hesitant to ask more, he knew better than to pry about gang life and Wonwoo’s work too much. Not that he thought Wonwoo would refuse to tell him or that it could put him in danger, it was just that he thought he should keep things simpler between them, at least for now. He would learn things along the way, he wanted to know all the things inside that made Jeon Wonwoo work. But he could spend the rest of his life learning.

Mingyu nodded, his breathing still heavy, heart racing. He watched as Wonwoo stood up and began heading down the hall to take the call in private.

“Wait,” He called, flashing a hesitant smile when Wonwoo turned back to look at him in confusion. “Stay the night.” He said. It was a question, but he didn’t want the answer to be no. He wanted so much more, he felt so much. Mingyu just wanted to spend as much time as he could with Wonwoo, that was the effect he had. Addictive.

Wonwoo’s face broke out into a smile, his cheeks colouring. “Yeah, okay.”

 

 

 


	22. Jihoon - Once a Rose

 

 

 

 

 

When Jihoon opened his door Soonyoung was putting his phone into the pocket of his jeans.

“Hey,” Soonyoung greeted, flashing his signature wide smile. It was the same smile Jihoon had fallen in love with, not that he had ever fessed up to such feelings. The smile was a welcome sight though, it always was and always would be. Even after the betrayal. He couldn’t push Soonyoung away no matter how much he wanted to.

“Hi,” Jihoon replied, allowing a small smile, his hand still gripping the doorknob. “are you going to come in or what?”

Soonyoung let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ll come in.”

Jihoon stepped back and let the other boy step into his apartment, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. He took a deep breath. This was going to be okay.

“You look good,” He commented, eyes gliding over Soonyoung as he bent to remove his black leather boots. He was wearing cuffed, tight fitted jeans that hugged his legs rather sinfully, and an oversized grey shirt that was French tucked in. In the past few weeks when Soonyoung had stopped by on other occasions in the early hours like tonight, he had worn hoodies and workout clothes. This was a lot for Jihoon to take in.

“You think so?” Soonyoung remarked, still smiling, walking into the familiar apartment. “I thought you would think my hair was rather brash. This is the first you’ve actually commented on it.”

Jihoon folded his arms, following the other boy into the bedroom. “I meant it’s nice to see you out of an oversized sweater,” he clarified, trying to ignore how wrong he knew all of this was. They shouldn’t be doing this. Not hidden like this, keeping secrets. There wasn’t the same trust there used to be. “but I do in fact like your hair. It’s bold. It’s such a bright pink it’s almost red.”

Soonyoung was in front of the window, opening it like he always did. Jihoon used to keep it open all the time for him, even in the winter because he knew the other boy liked the cool fresh air. It gave them both a reason to hold each other closer in the night too, though he had always pretended like he didn’t like cuddling.

“It’s called candy red,” he said, throwing back an amused glance. “I keep telling people it’s sweet like me.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Jihoon muttered, sitting down on his bed. He could see his reflection in the mirror. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. He was wearing black boxers and a too big shirt that may have been, embarrassingly, Soonyoung’s at some point. He hoped the other boy wouldn’t notice, that would be a new low, even for Jihoon.

He felt Soonyoung flop down next to him on the bed. Jihoon turned and looked at him, trying to make himself forget everything. Try to make it just the two of them, in some static perfect world where he didn’t need to worry about anything else. He used to only worry about Soonyoung and the other Roses, but now things were so much more complicated.

“You look tired, Hoonie,” Soonyoung said softly. He was looking at Jihoon so fucking tenderly, his soft curving brown eyes filled with worry and concern. “have things been okay? Jeonghan not putting you through too much?”

Jihoon shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I mean, I have been working a lot. Nothing I can’t handle though.”

“It’s okay to take a break, you know.”

Jihoon let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t take breaks from my kind of job. People depend on me, whether to intimidate, to get the job done, or to remove someone from the equation. Not everyone can do what I do. Most people can’t.”

Soonyoung reached over and set a hand delicately on his chest, still cold from being outside. “I know, trust me, I know. But I’m saying it can take a toll on people. On you. You remove yourself and just do your job as best as you can, but at the end of the day, you’re the one with the gun. You’re the one taking a life.” He reached his other hand to Jihoon’s face, turning it to look at him. “I’ve been telling you that for years. It doesn’t make you weak.”

“Did you call me up in the middle of the night to give me advice?” Jihoon asked sharply, pulling out of Soonyoung’s touch. “because you’re kind of confusing me. This whole thing you’re doing is confusing me.”

Soonyoung frowned, lips turning into a thin line. “What do you mean? I want to see you, I told you-”

“No,” Jihoon interrupted. “I mean, what are you doing back in Korea? Back in Seoul? Aren’t you supposed to be in like China or Hong Kong or something starting over? Without me? Because you couldn’t stand being with someone like me anymore, or in a gang? You said you wanted to get away from it all, and yet here you are, and you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

Soonyoung’s frown deepened. “Look, I know I said I wanted change. And I got it. Moving away from you, my family, and _Wonwoo_ ,”

“Does he know you’re back?” Jihoon asked suddenly. “Does your best fucking friend know you’re in the city? And why? Because you aren’t being honest with me.”

There was hurt in Soonyoung’s eyes now, and Jihoon hated it. He hated how he always was the cause for it, using his words as knives or his silence as a sword. Especially to Soonyoung, who was so full of good, who he couldn’t help but love.

Still, Soonyoung hesitated before answering. “No, Wonwoo doesn’t know why I’m here, not really. I told him I’m visiting family, but by now he might have other suspicions…I don’t know.”

“And you’re not going to tell me the truth?” Jihoon asked voice hardened with emotion. He would take Soonyoung back in a heartbeat, and he hated that fact if only he would be honest. You can’t just erase love.

“I can’t,” Soonyoung shook his head. “I’m sorry, just, I can’t. Not yet anyway.”

Jihoon let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Hoonie, please,” he begged, frustration breaking the words.

“No,” Jihoon sat up, pulling his shirt off and throwing it across the room. “If I can’t have you fully honest, then give me what you can. What you came here for.”

Soonyoung looked at him, brown eyes searching for forgiveness. He was so beautiful, Jihoon thought, stomach tied in knots. He wanted things to go back to how they used to be, but that could never happen. Not until they were honest with each other.

“Just kiss me,” Jihoon said finally, exasperated. He was done with this. He would take what he could get from Soonyoung, even if it was far from what he wanted.

So, Soonyoung did. Their lips connecting felt as right as the sun rising every morning, and Jihoon welcomed it even more.

He pushed Soonyoung back against the bed, crawling atop him, never letting their lips part for more than a few seconds. He needed this. He needed Soonyoung.

Jihoon let out a soft groan as he felt familiar hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. His hands cupped Soonyoung’s jaw, holding him tight, both of them desperate to just be _with_ each other.

“I’m sorry,” Soonyoung breathed against Jihoon’s mouth, “I really am.”

Jihoon pretended that he couldn’t feel the other boy’s tears on his face, or that Soonyoung, despite everything, still felt like home.


	23. Seungcheol - Flirting with the Enemy

He could clearly see the appeal of Joshua Hong. Seungcheol wasn’t going to lie to himself, he was attracted to the other man the moment he saw him standing next to Jeonghan at the gala. The two complemented each other in an eerie way. They were two sides of a coin, different, but clearly belonging together.

Seungcheol wondered if he should be jealous. He wasn’t at all. In fact, he rather liked the look of the two of them together, how they interacted, bouncing clever words off each other. Josh seemed able to keep up and counter Jeonghan’s sharp edges in a way he never had. And after meeting Josh, he couldn’t say that he wasn’t all soft smiles like he appeared. There was the same drive in him as Jeonghan, and it was utterly compelling.

So, when Joshua Hong walked into his office and smile warmly and bowed politely, Seungcheol had no choice but to smile back. It was that easy. And after a few minutes of talking, laughing, _flirting_ , Seungcheol was hooked.

After Jeonghan had left, telling Josh off quite dramatically, Seungcheol had spent the rest of evening thinking. He thought about Josh, the way his eyes curved when he smiled. The way he could laugh and shake his head knowingly when Seungcheol had apologized for omitting the exact details of the visitor to Jeonghan over the phone. Josh _knew_ Jeonghan the way Seungcheol did, he understood. He had never met anyone else who did. It formed an instant bond, but as they continued talking, Seungcheol realized there was more. Or at least, there could be. He in a way wished there would be.

When Seungcheol returned to his penthouse apartment later that night he found not only Jeonghan in their bed but Seokmin as well.

“Traitors aren’t welcome here,” Seokmin told him, propped up in Seungcheol’s spot in bed with a ridiculous panda sheet facemask on. “get out.”

He felt instantly guilty. Allowing Josh in to talk to them. For spending the rest of the day thinking about him.

Seungcheol hid his guilt though, instead, sighing exasperatedly. He looked to Jeonghan who lay shirtless, lazily flipping through television channels ignoring him. He too had a sheet facemask on, a black cat, at least that’s what Seungcheol thought it was from the whiskers. It was hard to tell.

“Are you really mad?” he asked, taking off his suit jacket and hanging in the closet next to the others. “I rather thought you liked seeing Joshua again.”

Seokmin scoffed. “And put him under more stress than he already is? To revive all those hard feelings? You are so inconsiderate sometimes, Cheol.”

Seungcheol frowned sitting at the foot of the bed. He was having a hard time keeping a straight face with how absolutely ridiculous they looked. “It’s not that big of a deal. So what Josh knows? We have the painting. Isn’t that what you wanted?” He tried to give a pleading look to Jeonghan, but damn it was so hard with those deformed whiskers. “And it’s to the point it almost seems like you two could make amends. Move on from the past.”

That’s what he wished would happen. He thought it would truly be for the best. Josh and Jeonghan had clearly meant a lot to each other once, and there was some inexplicable connection between the two.

“You’re just saying that because you think he’s cute,” Jeonghan replied, sounding unimpressed. “I know how you think.”

“Yeah? So, what if he’s cute!” Seungcheol shrugged and offered a half-hearted laugh. He wasn't going to deny it. “I just think that you got your revenge. You have the painting. You made the big scandal, you’ve done the impossible. It’s going down in history. I just don’t know what else you want from this.”

“If you think this ends here, you’re mistaken,” Jeonghan said, sitting up. “Getting the painting was only the first phase of the plan, Cheol. _I don’t want it._ Not to keep, not to boast. The only thing I have ever wanted from that godforsaken painting was some remuneration. Don’t you understand? The only thing I ever got from that painting – a painting that turned into a fortune and fame for Josh, was a broken heart and a banishment.”

“Well, what do you want then?” Seokmin asked tentatively. He didn’t know where this was going.

Jeonghan pulled off the facemask, his skin glowing, his dark eyes filled with determined. “I want my damn money.”

Seungcheol hadn’t been expecting that. They _had_ plenty of money. Jeonghan in the past few years had grown into a man of affluence, comfort and luxury the norm. Money hadn’t been something that Seungcheol had thought Jeonghan still thought about over the painting, how he had never received any money from Josh’s fame. Especially when Josh had started from a rich family and Jeonghan from nothing.

“So,” Seokmin said, peeling off his own face mask revealing the sharp elegant planes of his face. “that’s phase two.” He gave Jeonghan an impressed smile, one filled with respect. “I assume you have a plan?”

Jeonghan reached his arms around the other boy, smiling widely. “Of, course I do, babe. And the wheels are already in motion.”

This wasn’t the first Jeonghan had taken the initiative to plan deals or missions by himself. Hell, Seungcheol let Jeonghan do most of the planning around the WRC because the man simply had a brain for it. He knew the mechanisms of things and had an eye for detail and always was two steps ahead in planning for the unexpected. However, doing all of this without Seungcheol’s knowledge was a bit shocking to him. How much was Jeonghan keeping from him? Why wouldn’t have confided in him about this?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked. He was angry and hurt. And also suspicious in a way, because despite loving Jeonghan and knowing the type of man he was, there were still things about him that shook Seungcheol to his core sometimes.

Jeonghan shrugged. “I just want to do this on my own. You don’t need to worry, I have everything under control. Tomorrow Seungkwan and Hansol are going to finish the deal and we won’t have to worry about anything.”

“Kwan and Hansol?” Seokmin repeated, skeptical. “you’ve planned this big vengeance plan including a damn heist and you’re letting those two blushing idiots finish the deal?”

“I want Seungkwan to be the one to do it.” Jeonghan said, reaching over and grabbing his phone from the nightstand. “it will be a nice _fuck you_ , to Josh.”

Seungcheol shook his head. “I see where you’re coming from, but honestly that seems like a lot of responsibility for those two. You should have a whole team! It’s a risk, especially after all the work we’ve all done to steal this damn painting for your ego, Han.”

Jeonghan stared at him, brows furrowed. Seungcheol had never spoken to him like that, but he didn’t regret it. This seemed foolish and spite driven, even for Jeonghan. Seungcheol loved him and because of that, he couldn’t let Jeonghan ruin himself.

“The plans in motion. It will be done tomorrow. I have things under control.”

Seungcheol stared at him, frustrated. He looked to Seokmin, Jeonghan’s best friend and morale booster. He looked ready to protest too but unsure. Neither of them wanted to rebuke Jeonghan, not in the matter of Fallen Angel.

“What exactly is your plan?” Seokmin asked after a long moment. “You’re selling the painting? And you’re sure the deal with go through safe without any legal troubles?”

They were the same questions Seungcheol had been burning to ask. How could Jeonghan be so sure about all of this? There seemed to be so many possible loopholes and chances for betrayal and travesty. Was the damn painting, was _Josh_ , really worth all this trouble? Shouldn’t time have healed these wounds by now?

Jeonghan gave them a sly smile. “I have been in contact with a buyer for a few months now. He’s a big collector of beautiful things. The rarer the better. And I know for certain that he’s been very interested in our progress in obtaining the painting.” He let out a laugh, a bit too loud as always, shaking his head. “I think he may have doubted the White Rose Company’s abilities at first, but I gather now he is quite impressed.”

“Who is this guy?” Seungcheol asked.

“Wen Junhui.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> lol validate me with comments
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/checkinsbitch/)


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